A Lonely Night's Moon
by TiredRaven
Summary: Dark marks and controlling parents don't govern feelings any more than newspapers and Crumple Horned Snorkacks. But will a list, scattered memories, a scheming Zabini, and an angry Girl Weasle bring love, or even greater hatred? DMLL
1. Intangible Love

This was originally a oneshot that I posted under '101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy' Look at the spiffy new title. Like it? I didn't want something else to start with 101 Reasons… plus this is going to turn into more than just a fic about a list… Anyways, this has been turned into a full-fledged fic.

Luna is rather OoC in this chapter, (the first two, actually, I think, but definitely not as much in the second), but that, too, will get better.

Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to make this into a multiple-chapter fic. With all the stuff that I have coming out right now, though, don't expect updates **too **frequently. (I'll try to get out one every week and half—so expect about three a month, maybe more, depends on how well this story cooperates). Thanks again!

The reasons are not numbered because I am too lazy to go through and number them all. Doesn't translate into ff form, which I forgot. So... it's not happening. Just take my word; there's 101.

Read and REVIEW!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had said things like that before. He had told her, God, how many times had he told her, that she was crazy. He had told her that she was a loon, that she was a muggle-lover, that she was a bloody idiot, that she was just a little girl living in a dream world. But she had heard it all before. No matter what Draco Malfoy had said to her before, she had heard it. But she had not heard this before. Maybe people had thought it. In fact, she highly doubted that they hadn't. But no one had ever dared to say it to her. The least anyone could do was give her the right to revel in the perfect dream she had about the one thing that she wanted more than anything in the world; her mother.

Of course she should have known that they would find a way to take that away. Anything that to her seemed worth having was taken away. And for what? To conform to societies accepted 'norms.' But no matter how many norms she conformed to, she never had been, and never would be, accepted simply because she, who dared to be different, dared to be herself, dared to be anything but what people expected her to be, had rarely—though not never, she admitted—stopped and thought about how people would react. Being Luna Lovegood sometimes meant just not caring about the stares, the whispers, the nicknames, the teasing. But more often than not, being Luna Lovegood meant her dreams were all for nothing.

But the one thing that everyone had left alone was her mother.

Had it been anyone else, Luna admitted, she would have been able to put on her dreamy smile and walk away, waiting until afterwards to let her eyes fill with tears, to let the blocks of reality fall on her shoulders. Had it been anyone else, Luna could have acted the way everyone expected her to act: Loony. But she hadn't. She had acted like a real person—a real person who had real feelings, real expectations, and real longings.

Luna was not dreamy enough to believe that Draco was above picking at the most tender part of her fragile heart, but she was just dreamy enough to believe that if she just took what he dished at her, she could avoid getting hit too hard.

She was wrong.

Her tears stung her eyes, burning, searing them with such intensity that it felt as though they were made of acid. The more she tried to blink them away, the more they flooded her vision, filling her with deep anxiety, fear, sadness.

Why, why, why, why, was he the only one who made her feel this way? And why, why, why, why did he have to say _that_?

_"You aren't going to see your mother again, you loon! She's dead, and who could blame her for leaving when she had a crazy, stupid, daft excuse for a daughter like yourself? She probably committed suicide to get away from you and your lunatic of a father."_

The words burned inside of her head. It was as though Malfoy had stepped into the deepest parts of her mind, the parts that not even she dared to go, and seen all of her greatest fears and nightmares. Yes, that was why it hurt so bloody bad. It was true. It had to be! Why would her Mum, _Daily Prophet _reporter and journalist, feel obliged to stick around her crazy and work-obsessed husband and equally crazy, even at the age of five, daughter? She wouldn't. Not at all. Back in the far corners of her brain, Luna had always thought that her Mum's death wasn't exactly an accident…

But that was why there was only one part of her dreamland that Luna regularly wished was reality. Yes, it would be amazing to meet a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, it would be amazing to be popular, it would be amazing to not notice the teasing as she so often didn't in her dream worlds. Everything in her dreamlands was better than her reality; but there was one part that she loved above everything else; the soft, chiming voice of her mother, telling her that everything would be all right, that they only said these things because they were jealous of her originality. The most amazing part about living in her dreams was that after a while, she really _could _hear and see her dead mother, she really _could_ seek her out for guidance, and for once in her long, lonely life, she had someone who loved her unconditionally, without question, and forever.

Luna dreamed of many things, and yearned for as much, but the only thing she had ever wanted was the intangible love of her mother.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna almost crashed against her favorite tree, journal and quill in hand. She was practically trembling, she was so mad with rage. Usually, Luna was not good at writing lists. But today, as she sat beneath her tree with all of her hatred coursing through her tired veins, she could list, perfectly, all of the reasons she despised Draco Malfoy. Before she had even tried to think about it, she was scrawling '101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy' on the top of the page.

She didn't think logically, as though she ever did. All that she did was let her hand flow over the paper, saying what she had wanted to say for so bloody long.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy**

I hate that he's in Slytherin.

I hate that he's nearly killed Harry several times. Now Harry, there's someone I like. Not Malfoy.

I hate that he regularly stares at me like I'm an alien. Really, just because I read upside down…

I hate that he laughs out loud when I talk about my Mum. But I will see her again—I know it.

I hate that he insists on calling me Loony Luna.

I hate that he calls Hermione a mudblood. He sounds like a conceited, arrogant bastard when he does that. I mean, he _is _a conceited, arrogant bastard, but then he actually sounds like one… and you know what? Next item.

I hate that he refers to all of the Weasley's as blood traitors. Quite unattractive, really.

I hate that his father is a deatheater.

I hate that his father gives blondes a bad name.

I hate that his mother also gives blondes a bad name.

I hate that_ he _gives blondes a bad name.

I hate that he's Snape's favorite student.

I hate the way he slicks back his hair.

My father is _not _crazy.

I hate that he told me that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were a myth.

I hate that he reads _Witch Weekly._ What self-respecting guy reads _Witch Weekly_?

I hate that he says _The Quibbler _is a disgrace to the magic world.

I hate that I listen to him.

I hate that yellow is my favorite color, and it doesn't look good on him.

Professor Lupin was amazing. Unlike him.

I hate that he's a pureblood believer.

I hate that he eats like a pig.

I hate that I've never seen him wearing anything but black and gray.

I hate that he insists I was sorted into the wrong house.

He took my grey sweater, and I know it.

I hate that he takes an insane amount of joy in torturing people.

I hate that he's cursed almost all of the people I consider my friends.

I hate that he gets good marks without trying.

I hate that his laugh makes my spine crawl.

I hate that his shoes make him look like a dork.

I hate that he seems to think that the entire female population swoons over him.

I hate that almost all of the female population _does _swoon over him.

I hate that he never forgets it if you're wrong.

I hate that he's damned good at hexing.

Crabbe and Goyle aren't monkeys, no matter how stupid they may be.

I hate that he doesn't treat anyone—not even his supposed friends—like they're human.

No one should be so devoid of a heart as to make Neville cry and walk away.

He's really not as amazing as he thinks he is.

I hate that he's made everyone think that's not true.

Buckbeak was awesome.

I hate that he's dated Pansy Parkinson for several years now.

I hate that he sings off-key.

I hate that he's probably in deatheater training.

I hate that he doesn't believe in Dumbledore.

I hate that he thinks of stupid, juvenile nicknames for every single person he comes in contact with.

I hate that he still claims it didn't hurt when Hermione punched him in third year.

I hate that he's talent-less as a Seeker, yet he still manages to win Quidditch games.

I hate that when he thinks I can't hear him, he repeats what I just said and laughs manically.

I hate him because I'm beginning to run out of things to say…

But I'm not done yet. I hate that he makes fun of Professor Flitwick.

I hate that he never looks at anyone besides the girls with the biggest tits.

I hate that he's outrageously addicting.

My bottle cap necklace is _not _stupid.

I hate that he says I don't have any friends.

I hate that he made me think he was right.

I hate that he points out everything I try to ignore.

I hate that he thinks I'm outrageously funny because I'm different.

I hate that I always used to be happy with the way I was, until he pointed out just how strange I was.

I hate that I bet he knows nearly everything about the inner workings of the deatheaters, and he doesn't say anything.

I hate that he can get under my skin without trying at all.

I hate that I was the one who first noticed him, not the other way around.

I hate that he's really polite when he wants to be.

I hate that he smirks, never smiles.

Radishes are too a good accessory!

Neville is not a fool, he is not a goon, he is not there simply to be laughed at. He is not a disgrace to purebloods; he's a million times more a man than Draco Malfoy will ever be.

I hate that he looks like a ferret.

I hate that his eyes never look warm.

I hate that, for some reason, I always feel bad for him.

I can't stand the way he stands on the balls of his feet.

I hate that he probably knows all of the Unforgivable Curses.

I hate that he's grown up surrounded by evil, but I've seen someone die.

I hate that he doesn't know that I've seen someone die.

I hate that he wouldn't care even if he knew I had seen someone die.

I hate that he thinks he's too high and mighty for the rest of us.

I hate that he might be right.

I hate that he makes me second-guess myself.

Harry is not a prick, he is not a prude, he is simply more of a man than Malfoy.

I hate that he owned Dobby.

I hate that Dobby still thinks he owes something to him.

I hate that he hasn't even noticed that Dobby works at Hogwarts now.

Dumbledore is in no way a fool.

I hate that I am once again running short on things to say.

I hate the way his eyes pierce into mine.

I hate the way he always knows what to say.

I hate that one day what he says will make my heart flutter, and the next day it will make me want to crawl under a rock and die.

I hate that I always think it's not his fault for being this way.

I hate the way his eyes are such a shade of piercing blue that it makes my heart melt.

I hate that I could fall into those eyes and feel at home forever.

I hate that none of these are real reasons at all.

I hate that I can't ever get him off of my mind.

I hate the way his un-tucks his shirt slightly and expects everyone to swoon.

I hate that everyone does.

I hate that I'm part of everyone.

I hate that he makes me feel unoriginal.

I hate that I only thought of 78 decent reasons as to why I hate him.

I hate that only about 30 of those 78 decent reasons are really good reasons.

I hate that most of the things that are really good reasons I feel like I can change.

I hate him because I know I can't change him.

I hate him because I know I don't really want to change him.

I hate him because he makes me forget what I'm supposed to be.

I hate him because I love him so bloody much.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna looked in shock at what she had just written. She _loved _him? How could she bloody _love _him? She had many strong feelings towards Malfoy, but none of them were love.

She continued to look at the pages, covered in her sprawling, angry handwriting. There were some compelling reasons here, and she had left the biggest one of all out. But whenever she began to believe that she really did hate him, that she really didn't care what he thought—at least not that much—she looked at the bottom of the list.

_'I hate that I could fall into those eyes and feel at home forever…'_

_'I hate him because I know I don't really want to change him…'_

_I hate him because I love him so bloody much…'_

Luna swore loudly at the list—very un-Luna-like, as Ginny so helpfully pointed out later, and tore out all of the pages in her journal. She crumpled them up and threw them into her bag; not caring or noticing that all but one of the pages fell out. If she had looked on the ground, she would have seen the pages fluttering, lonely, underneath her tree. And if she had stayed about four minutes longer, she would have heard Draco's laughter and the sound of the Slytherins stalking towards her tree, hoping to find 'Loony Lovegood' acting the way she should. Instead, they found a few crumpled pieces of parchment, starting with the words 'I hate that he's in Slytherin.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, we liking? Review with responses and ideas, please! The whole 'planning' thing isn't really going too great right now…

P.S. Anyone who read/reviewed '101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy'--THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THAT PIECE MY MOST HEAVILY REVIEWED AND VIEWED PIECE TO DATE! LOVE YOU ALL!


	2. Arrogant Heartbreaker

Hah… massive amounts of writers block have eaten my soul. Sorry. I started out writing this chapter from Draco's POV, but it just wasn't working for me. So expect that later in the story, but not yet. (I am much too lazy to find a word to replace 'but.' Maybe when I'm writing the story—not the frapping introduction. Sorry, just a rant, but the amount of 'buts' were annoying me and now I'm annoying myself and probably everyone else who bothers to read these author note so yeah… I'll stop now…)

P.S. This chapter is pretty choppy… Just a note…

P.P.S Fear all of the ellipses…

P.P.P.S Fear that I finally remembered the word 'ellipse.' I've been trying to think of that word for two months…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since the incident, Luna had calmed down considerably. Now she was just pacing in the hallway in front of the Gryffindor common room, waiting for Ginny to come by. It didn't matter to her that it was class time now and Ginny probably wouldn't be around for an hour yet, it didn't matter that when she did come by it would be with a big group of people who were openly opposed to her friendship with her, it didn't matter that Ginny had no idea the amount of pain that came with not knowing the love of a mother. The only thing that mattered at all to Luna, in fact, was that she talked to someone who knew her, someone tangible. Someone who knew that she wasn't nearly as crazy as she seemed, someone who knew that no matter how it appeared on the surface, she was, and always had been, a teenage girl with teenage emotions.

She continued to pace, thinking angrily about her mother. Her mother did love her. She did. She knew it. As far as she was concerned, there were very few things in life that were guaranteed. But there was one thing and one thing only that she knew was completely certain: the love of a mother. Before she knew it, her face was stained with tears, her hair flowing wildly behind her, framing her face with an unarranged madness that seemed to fit her desperate pacing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Luna?" Ginny asked from behind her. Luna looked up; eyes still red and rivulets of tears marking her face.

"Ginevra," Luna said quietly. Ginny laughed slightly at the use of her full name before wrapping Luna up in a hug. Luna felt her arms limp at her side, but didn't lift them up to return the warm gesture. Instead, she placed her head in the crook of Ginny's neck and felt the comforting warmth of a hand rubbing her back. It was times like these when Luna's dreamlands engulfed her… times when embraces from a friend could almost, even if only for a despairing moment, feel like the embrace from a mother…

"Luna… what's wrong?" Ginny asked, pulling Luna gently from her embrace. Luna felt her eyes snap, felt her head reel with the familiar sensation of focusing back on reality. She looked into the eyes of Ginny, wishing, hoping, almost expecting, to see her mother staring back at her. But she instead got the big, brown eyes of Ginny.

"I can't love _him_…"

Ginny's eyes went big and she pulled Luna even farther away from her body.

"This is about a _bloke_?" Ginny asked, not bothering to mask her shock at all. Luna nodded her head.

"By cruel chance of fate, I ran into a Fiery Lynx, and they are notorious for bad luck, you know," Luna stated. "So, surely as I imagined, I have run into problems concerning the parallel of our divine substance."

"You don't make sense, Luna," Ginny said, a glint of amusement in her eyes. Luna sighed sharply and plopped down on the floor. Ginny looked at her for a moment, and then glanced around. When she was satisfied that there was no reason she shouldn't sit down, Ginny plopped down next to Luna.

"If you must know the plain and simple, Fiery Lynx's cause bad luck of the romantic sort… it is, of course, one of the only superstitions that I was sure would cause me no harm, for as you have surely noticed, I am slightly lacking in the romantic department of my life."

"I've noticed, Luna. Even Hermione had a boyfriend by the time she was a fourth year…"

"She's much more appealing than you would think," Luna answered swiftly, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. It amazed Ginny how quickly Luna could go back to pretending nothing was wrong. There was hardly a sight of the tears she had been in only a few moments ago. It would take someone who knew her well—really knew her—to be able to tell that the girl had been crying. Her face was dry, her eyes were free of tears, her nose was back to its usual shade of pink, her voice wasn't trembling at all. The only thing that showed even the slightest sign was her eyes that were slightly, so slightly, red from the irritation of the tears.

"Well, what sort of bad luck of the romantic sort did you have, then?" Ginny asked. Luna turned her head and looked down the hall, letting her eyes and her thoughts wander. She was faintly aware of Ginny's presence next to her, her eyes scanning her for an answer.

"Nothing that can't be solved with a good _Quibbler _article…" Luna said dreamily as she got up and walked away before Ginny could even make a move to stop her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since Ginny had befriended her in 2nd year, Luna had never withheld anything from her only real friend. Really, over the 3 years they had been friends, she had never had a reason to. But as she walked away from Ginny that day, fast as she could without looking like something was wrong, she was faced with one huge reason:

She had no idea how Ginny would react.

There were very few things about Ginny that Luna didn't like. That wasn't, however, to say that there weren't any. Ginny was hot-tempered, swift-mouthed, and very quick to judge. And that didn't even mention her very harsh biases against Slytherins. She was, after all, a Weasley. Malfoy, as far as Ginny was concerned, was perhaps the vilest creature to ever blemish the earth with his greasy presence.

Luna was, of course, taking words out of Ginny's mouth, but they were definitely words she could see the girl with hair as fiery as her temper saying. Luna wasn't a Gryffindor, not by any sense of the word, but simply by association, it was an unspoken rule (and unspoken only because no one had even thought about it long enough to make it a spoken rule), that she did not mix with Slytherins. Ravenclaw's could. Luna could not, lest she be kicked out of the only group that had ever even tried to accept her.

Even considering the possibility that she might, in the deepest depths of her mind, love Malfoy was breaking every unspoken friend of Gryffindor rule there was.

In the back of her mind, there was a tug that these were _very _unspoken rules… But Luna ignored the part of her brain that always insisted on being logical, (banish the thought, logic didn't exactly point to the existence of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks), and instead kept walking away from Ginny, ignoring the same part of her that she always ignored….

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna was debating whether or not it was safe to go to her tree to try to sort out her emotions. Maybe re-read over the list and just remind herself that even if she did love Malfoy, he was so far out of her league it was more than immensely depressing.

It was _her _tree, the place where she always read _The Quibbler._ The place where she did her best thinking. The place where she escaped when she really just wanted to hear her mother's voice… But at the same time, that was just it. It was _her_ tree. People knew it was her tree. Slytherins went there to bother her. Hermione went there when she tried to explain to her, yet again, that there really wasn't any truth in those silly articles that she read. Ginny went there when she couldn't find her. It was the most obvious place to sort out her emotions, therefore the worst possible place to do so.

Luna had been subconsciously walking towards her tree the entire while she was arguing with herself. She was just about to change direction and head back towards the castle to sort herself out in some abandoned hallway of the school, she heard piercing, shrieking laughter. Laughter that was much too familiar to ignore.

It took her a moment to realize that it was coming from her tree. It took her only seconds longer to realize that it was coming from Pansy Parkinson's mouth… and that there were other, less piercing, more bark-like laughs coming from the same direction.

_No,_ Luna told herself. _That's just stupid. Walk away. It probably doesn't have anything to do with you. Malfoy's probably with them. You want to sort this out before you see him next so you know how to handle yourself…_

Perfect, logical thinking. It would do Hermione proud. But then a thought struck in Luna's head…. Logic. She never used logic. Logic was the enemy. Luna believed in everything that defied logic. Therefore… well…

Screw logic.

Luna walked towards her tree, the sounds of laughter growing louder with every step. High above all others, there was Pansy's horrible little screeching laugh that would kill any sort of magical creature within a 15-mile radius. Poor things. _Note to self: Tell Hagrid that Pansy is a violation of the rights of all magical creatures._

"This is priceless, Drakie!" the thing screeched. Luna cringed.

_More notes to self: Logic isn't so bad._

"Listen to this one!" another voice, one that definitely wasn't Draco's, called out. She heard some scrambling, and she walked faster, feeling it necessary to hide now. By the time she got close enough to be able to see what was going on, Pansy was shrieking loudly. It took barely any time for Luna to notice just what had gotten Pansy's panties in a twist… Malfoy was getting his little (and completely unappealing) ass kicked at the moment.

"What the hell, Malfoy? I'm just going to read them #30!" the boy called out as he held the list—

Wait, _what?_ The list? Her list?

Luna opened her bag and dug through the contents desperately, emptying pocket after pocket, looking for her list. Finally, in the outermost pocket, she found… one page. 70-101…

Oh, God.

"Give me the bloody papers, Zabini!" Malfoy screamed, completely losing his cool for the first time Luna could remember. Zabini raised them up higher and jumped up, leaving Malfoy squirming on the ground. Malfoy jumped up just a moment later and immediately drew his wand.

"The papers," he insisted, his eyes locked on Zabini.

"Why, Malfoy?" Zabini asked, his teeth gritted together. "Afraid we'll see something you don't want us to see? Does she know something we don't?"

"Of course not!" Malfoy said quickly, lowering his wand so slightly it was barely perceptible to an untrained eye. Luna's eye, however, was very well trained from DA. She, without any trouble, saw the slight flaw in confidence. Malfoy regained well, though, heading towards Zabini with more gusto. "What could Loony know about me?"

"The weird ones know the most," Zabini said easily.

"Well not that one. She's so stuck in that crazy world of her father's that she doesn't even know that no one likes her."

"You underestimate her," Zabini said. "I find that extremely hard to believe. If she's noticed all of these things about you, like number 30: 'I hate that his shoes make him look like a dork,' a fact of which I was sure I was the only one aware, she must have noticed some other things. So, tell me, Malfoy, what exactly does this girl know?"

"Nothing!" Malfoy roared, diving at Zabini. Zabini easily dodged the attack. Malfoy slammed into the ground, and Zabini stood over Malfoy for a moment, looking down over him.

"Now I remember why I spend my time studying. Have fun," Zabini said, dropping the list on top of Malfoy, looking around with a slight glare in his eye at everyone standing around the spectacle, and walking swiftly away. Malfoy immediately grabbed the list and stuffed it into his pocket. The rest of the group came out of their spell and Pansy immediately rushed over to Malfoy's side.

"Oh, Drakie! That little buffoon! What the bloody hell does he think he's doing? Oh, Master will be most displeased with him!" Pansy said, sounding rather distressed.

"Zabini is none of His concern. He wouldn't come with me this summer, or do you not remember that?" Malfoy asked, his anger flowing freely from his disheveled figure. Pansy seemed taken aback and stepped back quickly, her eyes slightly wide. Malfoy just glared at her and stood up, brushing the dirt from off of his robes and patting the pocket that contained the list.

"Draco…" Pansy said quietly, but in a piercing voice that traveled all the way back to Luna. Luna cringed again. If there was one thing it was good at, it was making her cringe.

"Get away from me," Draco said brusquely.

"Draco?" Pansy asked, coming up behind her boyfriend and attempting to wrap her hands around his waist. He swatted them away quickly.

"I said leave me _alone_!" he roared as he quickly stumbled away.

_He's an arrogant heartbreaker._

_Arrogant, arrogant, arrogant. It's one of the worst traits someone can posses… besides a lack of imagination, and he probably possesses that, too._

Luna noted, for once, her note to self: Logic isn't so bad. But then she, as always, disregarded it as another thought entered her head:

_Pansy's heart deserves to be bloody broken._

With a slight smile on her face, Luna started to pick up all of the paper that she had torn out of her bag in her terror. Almost all of the assignments that she had been carrying around were ruined. She picked up her 4-foot essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts—or what was left of it—and nearly pissed herself. Ruined. Absolutely ruined. Hours—_hours_—of painstaking work had gone into this bloody essay. And it was gone. It had, most conveniently, fallen straight into mud, covering nearly all of her writing. She could decipher about the first four words.

That was going to take her forever.

Her meaningless, 15-minute 8-sentence proving-you-know-at-least-something-about-what-I'm-trying-to-teach you assignments were all in tact. The pointless ramblings that always seemed to flow out of her quill during class were unharmed, as well. But the one essay that happened to be important had fallen into the mud.

Of course.

Luna looked up and saw that Malfoy had left the group of Slytherin's standing alone by her tree, all looking very confused and slightly afraid of the tears that were clearly streaming down Pansy's face. For all the noise she made when she spoke, laughed, breathed, she was an extraordinarily quiet crier. Luna wouldn't even have known that she was crying had she not seen the tears falling over her cheeks.

A thought struck her then, one that she would have preferred not to have. _She's probably used to being disappointed…_

The thought that tears could be the face of uniformity for anyone scared Luna. She looked down quickly and began to quietly stuff her papers back into her bag, separating them into ruined and decent. Luna glanced back at the clearing once more. When she was preoccupied, most of the Slytherin's had cleared out. Now there was just Pansy, standing in the middle of the clearing, blankly staring straight out in front of her. Luna wasn't quite sure what was so offensive about Malfoy's comment. Yeah, it was rude, it implied some bad stuff, and it wasn't the way one was supposed to be treated by one's boyfriend… but she had been dating him since 4th year. She highly doubted she hadn't been exposed to that before. Apparently though, something about that statement was horrible for Pansy.

Luna watched her for a moment longer. The harder she listened for Pansy's stifled sobs, for her tired wailing, the quieter the forest around her seemed. Finally, Pansy took in one loud, harsh breath and fell to the ground on her knees, letting out a constricted scream. What struck Luna was not that she had screamed, but that it didn't sound so horribly cutting. What had struck her, in fact, was that she was not pushed back by the sheer sound of the strangled scream that left her lips. It struck her that it didn't sound like someone trying to kill magical creatures will her freakishly high voice, it sounded like a girl, a real, tangible girl, who had just had her heart broken. But what struck Luna the most was that it sounded oddly, almost unbelievably, human.

Pansy's harsh scream turned into sobbing, and Luna quickly turned and left.

_Arrogant, arrogant bastard. _

But yet again, another piece of information was tugging at the back of her mind:

_No, no. No one deserves to have their heartbroken…_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna realizes that Pansy is human…

Umm… I hate Pansy… so I'm not sure how that happened…

Ah well.

Review!


	3. Nothing But a Fleeting Memory

…

I am so, so sorry! I hate it when people with new stories just disappear for weeks on end, and I did just that. I have excuses… Well, first it was the snow days, and we don't get those where I live, so I **had **so go out and enjoy the snow. And then there were finals. I CURSETH THEE, FINALS! YOU ARE T3H DEATH! And this week has been the beginning of a new semester, which apparently means time for a huge Spanish project and English paper. That I've of course been putting off. And I SHOULD be writing my English paper right now and researching for my Spanish project, so don't you go complaining, you brats! PLUS, after like two weeks, I'm STILL PMSing and swim team is STILL going on and I'm really, really ready for it to be done. THREE MONTHS IS ENOUGH, DAMN IT!

:Cough:

Yeah, well, I'm sorry that I disappeared. On the bright side, I'm really into my plot line right now, so updates should be pretty frequent.

Still don't own it. :sigh: If I did, Blaise would be… umm… ignore the drool, please.

BLAISE.

Yays.

Read and review!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna had just managed to pile the last of her papers into her bag. She stood up and slung the heaping thing onto her shoulder, marveling at how she managed to do this with an added four pounds of books five days a week. Deeply distracted not only by the fact that Malfoy had her list, but also by the revelation that Pansy was actually a person, Luna paid almost no attention to where she was going. She mostly just relied on her feet to get her to the castle without her guiding them at all. It usually worked, and when it didn't, Luna had come to decide there was a reason.

"Well, did you come to see the little show I put on, Lovegood?"

Luna stopped in her tracks. That was the voice that was not Malfoy's, which meant it was…

"Oh! Hello. I don't believe I've met you," Luna said, doing a good job of keeping her voice steady. Zabini, however, saw right through it and snorted loudly.

"Cut the crap, Lovegood," Zabini said, leaning on a tree with one arm. "I saw you. That's actually, I suppose, why I put on the show. I tend to let Draco learn his lessons on his own. It's less painful for everyone that way. But I couldn't help but notice some of the things you put down on that list… things that Draco didn't fail to notice, either, might I warn you. I wanted to give you a heads up that Draco's not going to throw himself at you or anything," Zabini said with a satisfied smirk on his face, as if he expected Luna to burst into tears and run away. Luna put on a dreamy smile.

"I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking about," she said as she turned around to head to the castle. She had only taken about three steps when Zabini grabbed her bag and forced her to stop walking.

"Come on, Lovegood," Zabini said, frustration hinting in his voice. Luna had a hard time keeping a real smile off of her face.

"What?" she asked.

"I know you wrote that. All of the Slytherin's know you wrote that. Anyone who reads that list will know you wrote that," Zabini said, trying to sound like he didn't care at all and not doing too well.

"I'm sure that any lists I've wrote I've kept safe and sound in my mind, where no prying Trickle-Snouted Hopgies can reach them. That's the only place that's safe from them, you know. They can go anywhere and get anything unless you keep in stored in your mind. That's why I'm very glad they are illegal in England. Un-noble people can't bring them to school that way."

"Enlightening."

"Yes, it was in the July issue of _The Quibbler_," Luna said. "Do you read _Thw Quibbler_?" she asked. Zabini frowned.

"No."

"Really? Well, that's too bad. Tell me if you would like a copy. My father is the editor, you know," Luna said.

"I'll remember that."

"Good. Well then, I'll just be on my way," Luna said, turning once again and trying to make her escape. Zabini, instead of reaching for her bag like before, reached for her arm. He grabbed her, turned her around, and pulled her closer to him. Luna took in a sharp breath. From the little of the fight between he and Malfoy she had seen, she could tell that he was not someone to be messed with. He was big, strong, smart, cunning. She did, however, manage to wipe away everything that looked like fear that was plastered on her face and replace it with her calm, dreamy face.

"I know you know what I'm talking about. 101 reasons why you hate Draco Malfoy. We found it. You know. You saw me take it from Draco and read part of it. Why won't you admit it?" Zabini snarled.

"Well, I can't properly tell you anything if I don't know your name," Luna said, not taking her eyes away from Zabini's. He laughed and let go of her arm.

"So I was right. You know more than you let on," Zabini said triumphantly. "I've been told I read people well. And then there's always the Ravenclaw mark on your robe… that sort of mark doesn't go to those with little intelligence, as you would appear to be qualified as. Draco and the rest of Slytherin's miss things like that, I'm afraid. All they know is that Slytherin is the best house… nothing else really matters to them at all, besides blood, of course."

"I suppose, but you still haven't informed me of your name. If I don't know your name, I'm afraid I won't be able to get you any copies of _The Quibbler_, and I'd hate to know that you can't read it. It really is a wonderful newspaper," Luna said with a smile. Zabini, despite trying to hold it in, chuckled.

"My name is Blaise Zabini," he said, lowering his head so that he was eye-level with Luna. "Nice to meet you, Miss Lovegood."

"Well, very nice to meet you, too, Mr. Zabini. Now, would you like a subscription or just a few of my extra copies? If you just want a few copies, and if you read one you'll want to read them all, I assure you, then I can just give you the two in my bag right now—" Zabini held up his hand with a big laugh. It threw Luna off. Everything else that Zabini had done up until this point was calculated, cool, and in-control. That laugh was loud, it was happy, it was one of the most un-Slytherin like things she had ever heard. For once, she was unable to keep her emotions off of her face. It registered shock.

"I knew this would be amusing, I didn't know _you _would be this amusing. Wow. Are you never going to admit that it was your list?" Luna bit her bottom lip. She was already showing that she was surprised by his outburst, she didn't see why she couldn't just act the way she wanted to act now. She backed away from Zabini a little bit.

"If you already knew, then why did you seek me out?" she finally asked him, pulling back a loose strand of her hair. Zabini seemed confused by this. He looked at her oddly and then settled back in against the tree.

"I told you, I just wanted to warn you that Draco's not going to throw himself at you, or anything," Zabini said. This time, it was Luna's turn to scoff.

"I would never think that. I don't even remember half of the stuff I put on that bloody list. He said something stupid, and I wrote down all the reasons I could think of as to why I hated him. It wasn't until the very end that I realized what I was doing—apparently listing a bunch of reasons why I don't really hate him. I came out to the tree to sort things out, and lo and behold, I found that he had the first 70 reasons why I hated him—"

"The first 70?" Zabini interrupted.

"Yes. Did you not notice that it ended after 69? I have 70-101, I think the rest of the pages fell out of my hand when I tried to stuff them into my bag earlier."

"There's more?" Zabini asked.

"Yes, but none that you're seeing," Luna said swiftly, once again taking a step away from him. He smiled and mimicked her.

"Look, Lovegood, you're not Draco's type. I simply—"

"I know I'm not Malfoy's bloody type. He's not exactly my type either. If you think that I live in some delusional world where Malfoy and I could ever be anything other than enemies, you seriously need to re-assess your people-reading skills. I'm not always living in the world that you guys are, but my world doesn't, and never has, included Draco Malfoy. If you think it's weird or if he thinks it's weird, it's a thousand times weirder to me. If the only reason you truly wanted to talk to me was because I'm not Malfoy's type, then you're wasting your time. I know," Luna growled, clutching her bag close to her side and turning around quickly.

She half expected Zabini's hand to grab her bag or her arm, but when it didn't, she whipped around.

"I'm giving you a copy of _The Quibbler _tomorrow during breakfast."

"You'll make a fool of yourself," Zabini said.

"I do that every day. I don't notice anymore."

"I don't really need a copy of _The Quibbler_."

"I didn't really need your 'help' today," Luna said. Zabini smiled and shrugged.

"Fair enough."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After wandering around random corridors for nearly an hour, Luna finally found a spot she felt was secluded enough. She had never been in this hallway before, and it didn't look like anyone else had, at least not for a long time.

There was only one window in the hall, and it was an unusual one for Hogwarts. So many students sat on the ledges of wide-ledged windows that most of them were magically altered—permanently. This one, however, no one had even bothered to change. Luna perched herself on the ledge and put her bag by her feet, her hands running over her butterbeer necklace. It was almost as if the ledge was made for her, and something about it made her feel oddly at ease.

Luna smiled and sank down. As she fiddled with her favorite bottlecap, she let her eyes wander out the window. To her surprise, the Quidditch Pitch was right there. This would be a wonderful place to watch the games, if she wasn't the commentator. She still wasn't sure how she got _that _job.

Taking a deep breath, Luna felt the tiniest bit of disappointment. She knew that she didn't stand a chance with Draco, but it was one thing to know it and an entirely different thing to hear it from someone who she assumed it was a friend. If she hadn't run into him, (or rather, if he hadn't run into her), she could at least try to pretend that she had some sort of chance with him. Now, though, she just resigned herself to the fact that she didn't like Ron, didn't like Harry, didn't like Neville or Collin, no, she fancied herself in _love_ with Draco bloody Malfoy.

Luna took a moment to go over her options. _How logical I'm being lately…_ she mused. It took her a second to consider, but she finally decided that logic really wasn't the enemy… at least not when it came to things like Draco Malfoy.

Draco—_damn it, Malfoy!_—wasn't someone that she ever thought of as a good or loyal person. In fact, she had always fancied him an arrogant, conceited person. And even when she was sitting here, musing over whether or not she loved him, she still thought that he was. So how in God's name did she think she loved him if she didn't even _like_ him?

Yes, she supposed that much was true. She didn't like Malfoy—she never had. He was much too narrow-minded, much too unkind. And though it was true that Luna had never been particularly good at logic—never even tried to be very good at logic—loving Malfoy was simply the most illogical thing she had ever heard of. With this is mind, Luna leaned harder into the sill, sliding farther down into her makeshift seat.

What did she even know about love, anyways? Little, to say the least. She supposed her father… yes, her father must have loved her at some point. Perhaps he loved her when he had her mother to love, too. But now? If he ever looked up from his ever-piling stories, from his love _now_, from his life _now_, he might just love her like he had loved her all those years ago. _If. Might_. That was how much she knew about love. Nothing more. Love was nothing but a fleeting memory, bits and pieces of remembrances coming in and out like the tides. Again, Luna shifted rather uncomfortably in her perch. Hoping to find something besides the nearly non-existent love from her father, she delved deeper into herself.

Her mother had loved her, (_she **had**, _Luna reminded herself firmly, but even that love was forgotten most of the time. When she first came to Hogwarts, just two years after her mother's death, she could clearly remember her Mum's sweet, loving eyes and her comforting smile… but after 7 years, even those sharp memories were starting to fade into an increasingly thick fog. Luna knew—even if she sometimes doubted—that her mother had loved her. It was remembering it that was hard. If there was an unrequited love in Luna's life, it was the love she had for her mother, not the alleged and confused 'love' she had for Malfoy.

When it came down to it, she knew that no sort of rejection or un-returned or ill-fated love could be more painful than waking up in the morning with an ache somewhere deep inside of her tired bones, an ache that after all these years hurt just as bad as the day after, an ache that she had recently realized would never go away. That sort of constant pain could never be upstaged by something as petty as a teenage crush—or even a teenage love.

But even those loves—the increasingly faint love from her father, the unrequited love of her mother—were nothing but family love. Family love was something that was practically unknown to Luna. Her father's family had stopped contact long ago—very shortly after he had begun dating her mum. Her mum's family stayed close for a while, sending Luna birthday cards and offering to take her for a few scattered weekends. But not long after her mother's death, they disappeared into the big muggle world without so much as one last note. Before she knew that she and her father and her mum's family were growing apart, they had split in two. Muggles and magic, when it came down to it, didn't mix.

But if she felt she knew close to nothing about family love, she knew even less about romantic love. In the past, she knew that her father had loved her mum more than anything in the world. The promise of her smile, of her laugh, of her approval made him work—and made him work hard. He pumped out volume after volume of _The Quibbler_ in attempts to impress her when they were dating, and even before that. After their marriage, his pace slowed, but only slightly. Instead of trying to put out as many issues as possible, he put out fewer, but added a new section. At first, it was called '_Marie's Page.' _ Her mum loved it, taking extra time to read it when the paper came out. _Marie's Page _changed with her mum's interests, and was filled with intense, undying love. But that undying love brought about undying pain when her mum died.

Likewise, her mum had loved her father with everything she had. It was true that she was impressed by how often he could put out _The Quibbler_. It was also true that she loved _Marie's Page_ and it was one of the highlights of her life. But when it came down to it, her mum loved her father. She loved him and all of his strange quarks, all of his odd habits, all of his outlandish ideas. That example of romantic love, though, had almost completely died along with her mother. Her father's feverish love of Marie Lovegood hadn't diminished in the slightest—but it had changed. It had gone from the source of his greatest joy to the cause of his deepest pain. And though Luna knew that this was love—true love, unshakeable love—it told her little about relationships. All it had ever really told her was that love hurt. And that was something she already knew.

Besides her parents, her 'great examples' of romantic love were Ron and Hermione (they had yet to do anything but bicker and, in a joint effort, try to save Harry's butt), and Ginny and Harry. Ginny's undying crush on Harry was still unreciprocated, no matter how much Luna fancied them a good couple. How could she judge if she really loved Malfoy if she had nothing to compare love to?

_Yes_, Luna mused, pulling her legs up tighter against her body and hugging them, _logic really does get a bad rap… _

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm a review whore. Just thought you should know, incase that will sway whether you review or not. I'll love you forever.

Lunaaaaaaaaa! Poor Luna. So confused.


	4. Away From Reality

WARNING: EXTREMELY LONG AUTHORS INTRODUCTION TO FOLLOW. I usually try to keep these things brief, but I can't today. The first few paragraphs are VERY IMPORTANT, and I want everyone to read them. After that, I'm explaining my stance on Blaise Zabini.

This is the time when I would get on my knees and beg for forgiveness for not updating, but I don't feel the need to. I do, however, feel the need to explain why I haven't posted. I've had this chapter written for probably over a month now—but I haven't had time to edit. I was horribly distracted for two weeks, for which I apologize profusely. But after that…

My Grandfather got sick two weeks ago and died three days later. I've been taking care of stuff, and the chapter I was working on had… a lot to do with death until I altered it. I just couldn't handle it. And after that, it was just getting back into rhythm and dealing with all the shit surrounding his funeral and everything…

I'm using this story as therapy now, but I just really _couldn't _write it for a while, not with a huge part of Luna being the death of her mother.

Thanks for understanding.

Now onto something completely different:

Just as a warning, there are a couple of really awkward sentences in this chapter that I just couldn't figure out how to fix. If you notice any of them and have a suggestion as to how to fix them, PM me. And I'm also looking for a beta, so if anyone is interested, PM me or include willingness in your review… because you should review… :wink wink:. Anyways, I need a beta desperately… thanks.

So, I know a lot of you aren't too sure about the role of Blaise Zabini in this fic. I understand that. Blaise Zabini isn't portrayed often in Harry Potter—and not at all in a positive light. However, I have a soft spot for Slytherins who haven't proven themselves completely evil, and Blaise hasn't. His biography has often made me wonder just what did put him into Slytherin. From the way that his mother is portrayed—a mysterious, rich, sultry Italian suspected of killing husband after husband after husband, I've begun to wonder whether Blaise is in Slytherin because he believes in the life his mother and her various husbands have shoved down his throat, or whether it is the exact opposite. I, personally, think that Blaise was put in Slytherin because he sought the ultimate revenge on his mother.

When you think about it, it would actually make sense. His mother has had a barrage of very rich husbands, and each time she remarried, Blaise was probably picked up out of his home and moved, sometimes out of the country, sometimes just barely out of his town. He was raised as a show dog, a servant, and a kid that could only get in the way of his mother's wooing—and killing—of her rich suitors. If someone had been hurt that badly by his own mother, they would have a hard time believing in what they believe in. But would they have the same trouble hating them, and wanting them to go through what they went through? Probably not. So, in my mind, Blaise Zabini is anything but an average Slytherin, and I'm pointing it out in this story.

If you read that, hope you understand where I'm coming from. Now, onto the actual story.

(This is now officially a page long in word with Times New Roman 12 pt. Font… I am SO sorry!)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna sat down to breakfast the next morning with a copy of this month's _Quibbler_ tucked underneath her arm. She watched the Slytherin table carefully, waiting until Zabini sat down to make her way over and offer him the paper. For a moment, Luna wondered why she was even doing this. For all she knew, Zabini was going to act like he had never spoken to her in his life and send her packing. Oddly enough, though, she didn't really see him doing that.

Once again, Luna's eyes wandered over to the Great Hall entrance. Still no sign of Zabini. With her luck, he was probably one of those freaks who didn't rise until ungodly hours of the afternoon. The sigh that escaped Luna's lips was hardly audible. She was about to look back down at her breakfast and consider giving it to him at lunch when her eyes caught someone walking through the door.

Lo and behold, Zabini had actually showed up at a decent hour of the morning. Luna stood up quickly, feeling something that she hadn't felt in a long time… nervousness. It struck her then that she realized it had been _ages _since she had felt that familiar quiver in her chest, the quick, shallow breaths, the nerve-wracking exhilaration that came with knowing that her actions might not be well received—and caring. She had known, of course she had known, that her actions might not be well received when doing other things, but it had been a long time, a very long time, since she had cared. And why in the hell would she care about something as stupid as giving Blaise Zabini an issue of _The Quibbler_?

Luna tried to push her nervousness out of her mind, only to find that it came back with a vengeance. Swallowing hard and clutching the issue closer to her chest, she held her head high, pulled her shoulders back, and consciously let her twinkling, intelligent eyes be taken over by the slightly glazed-over and dreamy eyes that she usually wore. Donning herself with her usual dreamy smile, she, as usual, did her best to ignore the stares and muffled laughter as she made her way over to the Slytherin table.

Zabini looked tired. By the way he was sitting at the table, chin up and shoulders pulled as far back as possible without looking stupid, Luna could tell people weren't supposed to notice the faint bags under his eyes and the impending yawn she could see on his face. The fact that he tried so hard to hide his weaknesses made Luna subconsciously compare herself to him. They were nothing alike, really. He was from a world of wealth and status, she from a world of living in _The Quibbler _office building and being shunned. Other than the questionable reputation of his mother, Luna knew nothing of the unintentionally clichéd tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious Italian with an on-again off-again accent and an amazing ability to turn on and off his charm. Other than her crazy father, Blaise knew nothing of the intentionally completely original lanky, blonde, zany, and dreamy Ravenclaw with a permanent smile and eyes that you could drown in—not in depth, but in lack of it. Opposites in every way, but then…

But then Luna knew that Zabini's mother paid about as much attention to him as her father paid to her, and probably less. She knew that even if he would never admit it, there was a huge hole in his heart from not knowing who his father was—and knowing that his mother probably killed him. She knew that growing up around death and mystery that his mother was unable to hide must have subjected him to some of the same questions she had always asked herself: if her father didn't want her, why didn't he just send her away? Why did he bother picking her up over vacations? Did her mother love her? Would she love her if she saw her now? Would she be proud? Or would she cringe at the sight? Why had she seen death when all these more worthy of such despair hadn't? Did love really, truly exist, or was it simply a game to be played for money, fame, fortune, and short-lasting pleasure?

Opposites… but then… just exactly the opposite.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here you are," Luna said, handing the paper to Zabini from across the Slytherin table. Zabini looked up, tire in his nearly black eyes. His face registered confusion for only a moment before he nodded.

"Thanks."

"There's a wonderful article on Triple-Toed Groglers," she said naturally, ignoring the stares and the elbowing that was going on all the way down the Slytherin table.

"What in the bloody hell are Triple-Toed Groglers?" Zabini asked, looking up at her with a harsh questioning face. Luna just put a good-natured smile on her face and looked at him with an odd expression, tilting her head.

"You don't know?" she asked innocently.

"I'll just read it, I suppose," Zabini said rather crossly, taking the paper off the table and tucking it underneath his arm. "Anyways, thanks, Lovegood," he said.

"Tell me if you want a subscription," she said, still trying to ignore all of the questioning that was going on on both sides of her.

"I will."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna wasn't sure what had gotten into her lately. She had spent a lot of time thinking—logically—and it wasn't even about Malfoy. Her new favorite spot to think was the little window nook she had discovered on the day Malfoy had found her list. That was almost a week ago. Almost a week since she had seen her very life flash before her eyes—and nothing had changed. Maybe it was just the fact that, indeed, nothing about her life had changed, or maybe it was because Luna felt herself changing, but whatever the reason, she was thinking about all sorts of odd things. True, many of her thoughts ventured into the realms of her father and mother, of love that she knew and missed, but even more, she began thinking about what she wanted to do. What she _was_. She had always hidden behind a pair of dreamy eyes, a sincere but blank smile, strange quips and a land of fantasy. But what was behind that façade? It had been so long since she had shown it to someone even she was beginning to wonder. She realized now that she consciously changed her appearance. She made her eyes get that glazed over look, made her lips go into that charmingly dreamy half-smile. What did she look like without those features?

It was a question that had been driving her crazy lately. She would look in mirrors, windows, water, and try to find herself in the reflection. But every time she looked for herself, all she saw was an average, but still pretty, teenage girl with long, blonde hair, misty gray eyes, and a smile that never came off. She didn't see what she was looking for—a girl who was deeply saddened and confused by the most basic of things in her life: family, love, school, friends… The person she saw in the mirror was leaps and bounds different from the person she felt inside of her, pounding on her ribs, skin, lips, trying to get out. Where was she?

The girl she saw in the mirror seemed as though she had no worries. She just sat in the reflection, gazing with an intense emptiness into Luna' eyes. Luna felt as though that girl could see into her very soul, yet she didn't see anything at all…

Luna had always dealt with issues of identity by ignoring them. But now, faced with a list that said that she loved one of the only people in the world she thought she truly hated, she knew that she had to confront the question of her person head-on.

To her, Luna Lovegood was not a dreamer stuck in a land far away from everyone else's reality. She was not a freak who spent her days reading upside down by the lake, telling everyone strange things and not letting anything register. But when she looked at herself in the mirror, that's what she saw. When she talked to anyone besides Ginny, that's what she heard. She heard a slightly deranged girl with a singsong voice and not a logical or coherent thought in her head. But who was Luna Lovegood to her? The Luna Lovegood that she knew she was—somewhere?

At first, it seemed that it would be an easy enough question to answer. Luna was a girl, a teenage girl, who had odd ways of dealing with grief and emotions. She loved her dead mother, mourned her living father, and had spent the majority of her life hiding behind her emotions with a mask that was so thick even she could hardly see through it anymore. But then, that was just the problem. Not even Luna could see through her own mask anymore. And the more she thought about who she was—truly, who she was at the very core of her lost being—the more she realized that the only definitive thing she knew about herself was that she was very lost, very deprived, very sad, and incredibly confused. So that was Luna Lovegood, the person? Just a confused teenage girl?

The notion that she might be nothing more than just another confused teenager sent Luna into more fits of confusion. She was more—she had to be—than just another confused teenager. But the mold fit… she didn't know who she was, who she trusted, who she loved, who she believed in. All she knew was that the only thing that could make her less confused were the arms of her mother, and she would never fall into those arms again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna, for once, wasn't sitting at her newfound perch. For the first time in nearly a week, Luna was sitting underneath 'her' tree. She wasn't sure when, but sometime after Malfoy had found her list, Luna had stopped sitting underneath her tree. It was just too dangerous. People knew that she sat and read here almost all the time, and they took advantage of that knowledge. They came while she was absorbed in articles to harass and tease her, steal things out of her bag that they would never return, and make loud noises in an attempt to get a reaction out of her.

Today, though, today her tree felt like the place to be. She loved the perch she had found. It had the loveliest view—right out over the lake and the Forbidden Forest—but it just wasn't home like her tree was. When she sat on the perch, letting her eyes wander as far as they could see, feeling her body leaning against the cold, hard stone and her face placed on the icy window, she missed the soft, warm, damp green grass underneath her, the warm, comforting breeze brushing against her face. Luna had come to realize that she did better thinking on her perch, but she just liked being outside better. So, despite the fact that people would come to bug her, despite the fact that someone would come to find her, despite the fact that she would undoubtedly lose something—permanently—by the end of her stay, she sat underneath her tree and found herself lost in the deep blue sky, nowhere but the present, thinking of nothing but how lovely the trees looked against the sky, and wondering how anyone could ever pass by a day like this.

It wasn't until Ginny was nearly on top of her that she heard her footsteps. Cursing silently to herself, Luna quickly grabbed her bad and attempted to scurry away from her tree and behind a bush or something so she wouldn't have to talk to her inquisitive and loud-mouthed friend. Luna loved Ginny, she really did, but she didn't know how she could talk to her right now without everything that had been on her mind lately spilling out of her mind. And though Malfoy hadn't been front and center lately, he had certainly been on her mind. A lot. The thought of Ginny finding out the way she felt about Malfoy—no matter how confused she was about it—terrified her.

Luna dashed behind a bush, stayed very quiet, and tried as hard as she could not to move. She heard Ginny's footsteps on the other side of the bush, and could tell by the way she was pacing that she was looking for her.

"Damn it, Lu, I know you're here! Come out already!" she said loudly, letting her voice ring around the circle of trees. Luna didn't budge, kept her breath in, and silently hoped that Ginny would eventually give up.

She should have known better.

"You want to play, do you?" she asked, sounding testy. "You've chosen the wrong girl to play with. I know you're here, Luna. I know it. You should just give up now."

Still, Luna said nothing. Her silent prayers continued to run through her head.

"I just want to know why you've been avoiding me so much," she said, in a voice that was very quiet for the loud Ginny. Luna felt bad for a moment, feeling a sweep of emotions in just a moment. Luna opened her mouth to say something, but Ginny beat her to it. "You've been different ever since that day I ran into you in the hall, crying. I just want to be there for you, Lu. You shouldn't go into yourself to solve all of your problems. You'll just make yourself more confused," Ginny said, pausing and waiting for Luna to pop up. For a moment, Luna thought she would leave it at that. She thought that Ginny would walk away and hope that her friend would seek her out later. But instead, she heard Ginny sit down at the base of her tree. Cursing silently again, Luna decided that 'the talk' with Ginny would have to happen sooner or later…

"I'm sorry, Ginevra," she said sheepishly, popping up from underneath the bush. With twigs stuck in her hair and a stubborn thorn claiming her bag, she tried to walk out of the bush, getting stabbed and grabbed with every step. In the background, she could hear Luna laughing as she swatted at the bush as if it were alive, telling it to calm the hell down and let her through.

"It's bad of you to hide from your best friend, Luna," Ginny said as soon as she was rid of all of the thorns and branches. Luna looked down again, the same sheepishness as before flowing from her body.

"I know," she said softly, falling against her tree as well. Ginny sighed.

"What's going on with you?" she asked.

"If I knew, I would tell you," Luna said faintly, looking straight ahead rather blankly.

"You know," Ginny said sternly, "now tell me."

"But I really don't know, Ginny," Luna said, her frustration hinting in her voice.

"Just tell me what's on your mind," she said, trying to sound encouraging. Instead, it froze Luna up even more than before. Ginny seemed to notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere, so she turned to face her friend. "It can't be that bad, Luna," she said softly.

"But it can, Ginny…"

"What?" Ginny asked, visibly confused. An open look of confusion on Ginny's face was rare, and Luan basked in it for a moment before she continued.

"No, Luna, it's bad."

"Just—"

"I don't even know who I am anymore! And it's all because of some jackass who I shouldn't' even like to begin with!" Luna said angrily, venting for the first time in over a week.

"I knew it was a guy!" Ginny said excitedly. "Thoughts about a guy can't be that bad."

"But they can, Ginny. If you only knew who they were about…" she said softly.

"I've told you before that it's fine if you fancy Ronald!" Ginny said, exasperation in her voice. Luan frowned.

"It's not Ronald."

"But then…"

"Exactly."

"If it's not Ronald…" Ginny trailed off.

"You'll hate me forever," Luna said.

"I will not!" Ginny said angrily, scooting closer to her distressed friend. "Just tell me," she pleaded. Luna immediately backed away from Ginny's touch.

"But who am I to judge love?" she took off suddenly, jumping up from the tree and beginning to pace. Ginny just looked at her, wide-eyed. "I have no idea what love even is! How could I judge if I love him or not? And he's such a git! I hate him so much… I just… I want to…" Luna said, stopping mid-sentence and looking down at Ginny with shock all over her face.

"You hate him?" Ginny asked, her face skewing in confusion.

"I hate him so bloody much, but whenever I see his stupid ferret-y face and his dumb, gorgeous blonde hair I just want to—" Luna stopped again, this time in shock. She covered her mouth and glanced down at Ginny, who looked absolutely speechless. Without another word, she grabbed her bag and took off as fast as she could. As she sped away, feeling her legs pounding against the grass, hearing her heartbeat in her ears, she heard Ginny.

"Malfoy?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna continued running away, feeling her legs pound against grass, stone, pavement, wood, back to stone. The uneven cobblestones almost made her fall a few times, but without an ounce of grace, she had always recovered before she could tip over and continued sprinting as fast as she could to anywhere—_anywhere_—where Ginny wasn't. The breeze surrounding Hogwarts that had always given her such comfort was now slapping against her face, harsh, cold and unfriendly. At some point, Luna must have started crying, because she felt icy acid tears streaming down her face and saw her vision blurring with tears. And the whole time she was running, avoiding all the obstacles and, for once, truly not noticing the stares, all that was going through her head was one single thought: _I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't. I didn't! _

But such thoughts didn't comfort her this time. Those desperate thoughts running through her head only reminded her that she did, however much she wished she didn't. Somewhere between hate and bitter hate, Luna Lovegood had fallen head-over-heels in love with Draco bloody Malfoy, and not even disapproval from her best friend could change that.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Review, please. Danke.

Thanks for waiting so long...

_:I'm ready to go to Boston/Where no one knows my name...: _


	5. Caring About The Quibbler

Ok, I'll be honest. I usually love to play around with POVs, but I was kind of nervous to do it with this story. I've been getting amazing feedback on Luna, and I didn't want to ruin my hot streak. But... when it comes down to it, I hate just writing from one POV. It gets boring for me, so I don't know how it can't get boring for the reader. So... this entire chapter is in Draco's POV. Hope you like it. I'm rather pleased by how well it turned out.

This chapter I wrote mostly in Hawaii while preparing for and dealing with my Grandpa's funeral, so I didn't talk much about Luna's Mum. I thought it was a bit too soon to address death in such a straightforward matter. Conflict about Luna's Mum should be back by next chapter, as that plays a big role in my plot.

Also, I have an important question to ask everyone. Up until this point, I've done a pretty decent job of keeping events and characters canon—at least outwardly. (No one really knows what Luna's thinking, so that's technically canon also). But now I'm faced with a hard decision—I've subconsciously placed this story during Luna's fifth year, AKA the year Draco is plotting to kill Dumbledore. I have two choices. I can either continue making this story canon, or ignore HBP. I want some audience feedback because I'm having some issues deciding. I like to keep things canon, but throwing in that obstacle will make things even harder for this couple, and it's already slightly impossible. I haven't planned a whole lot farther than I am now in the series, but I would like to decide so I can at least try to plan further. PM me or include your thoughts in your review, please. I'll announce results in the next chapter.

P.S. Including the events of HBP will undoubtedly make this series longer, in case you're wondering... or in case that will change your mind. On to the chapter!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco woke up, feeling stiff and dirty. He couldn't remember exactly when he had fallen asleep, or under what circumstances. The only thing he was aware of was that he was in his own bed in his own dorms, and there were a few pieces of parchment clasped in his cold hands. Groggily, Draco sat up and looked around the dorm room. Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle had all left already. He must have slept in late. Crabbe and Goyle didn't leave without him unless they feared starvation-which, Draco mused, was often enough… but not so often he was left alone on a regular basis.

Yawning and having a good stretch, Draco let his eyes shift to his clock on his bedside table. Noon. Pleasantly late for a weekend. In order to stand up, Draco swung his legs around so they were on the ground and pushed himself up from the bed. When he did this, he again became aware of the parchment pieces pressed in his hand. With little hesitation, Draco un-crumpled the pieces of parchment. He smoothed them out on his bed, trying to remember what they were.

Draco's eyes went wide for a moment before he folded the parchment neatly and stuffed them back underneath his pillow where they belonged. No one was supposed to know he kept that...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He got dressed quickly, running a brush through his hair and a toothbrush over his teeth. He threw his robes over his daily wear. But as he stood at the door, he stuck his hand in his pocket. It felt empty. His eyes trailed over to his pillow, and all he could do was think about the note stuffed underneath it, containing something that shouldn't have meant anything to him; nothing at all. He tried to pry his eyes away, but they wouldn't budge. With an exasperated sigh, he walked over to his bed and grabbed the list, stuffing it in his pocket and hoping he wouldn't have to look at it again.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sleep enough today, O Prince of Slytherin?" Zabini said scathingly when Draco took his usual seat next to him.

"Yes," Draco said shortly, grabbing a piece of ham and slice of buttered toast. He stuffed the food into his mouth without a second thought, yawning every once in a while and surveying the state of the Slytherin table. Besides Pansy and the other 6th year girls, everyone seemed to be in a good state. Though he was dating her, he hardly even considered the strange, strained look on her face. If he had looked a little more closely at the girl's side of the table, he would have noticed the black lines that no amount of magic or makeup would cover under her eyes and the gaunt line of her jaw. He would have seen the traces of red puffiness around her eyes, he would have noticed the way the girls were surrounding her, fawning and talking softly and quickly to her. It wasn't normal for Pansy to be the center of attention like that. At least... at least not when everything was right and good with her relationship with Draco...

But Draco was simply Draco. He didn't have to notice things like that when it came to his girl friend, and he didn't. It wasn't as though he really cared for the girl, anyways. She was beautiful, thin, and interesting enough that he didn't feel as though his brain was going to rot when he talked to her. She was easy and a good kisser—that was enough for a fling. If he needed a better wife later on, he was sure that his father would provide one for him. Pansy was good fun—but she wasn't important to Draco.

One thing Draco did care about, however, were his 'friends.' Perhaps they weren't overly close, perhaps they really were just his minions as the rest of the school seemed to think, but they, and what they thought and did, was important to Draco. He didn't like them to do things he didn't know about. He knew who they were dating, what classes they were taking, what grades they were getting, what they were reading, who they were talking to... But when he looked at Zabini placed placidly next to him, he noticed something odd. None of the Slytherins really got the newspaper—no one except for Draco and another 7th year. If something important happened, one of the two of them would make an announcement, or at least told the people they cared about. But as he looked at Zabini, he saw something unusual. His owl flew down with a newspaper attached to his leg. Draco stopped and did a double take. What?

His curiosity getting the best of him, he leaned over and tried to see what Zabini was reading. Zabini was sitting in an odd position, so after several adjustments and a stretching of his already long neck, he finally found the name.

_The Quibbler_?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Fuck, Zabini!" Draco said angrily later that day. For once, Crabbe and Goyle weren't by his side. Zabini still had the paper tucked underneath his arm and was looking at Draco with amusement plastered all over his face. Draco was nearly boiling—he was confused and outraged that he didn't know what Zabini was reading. It was a foreign feeling to him—this feeling of being out of control. And though his thoughts weren't exactly rational, he briefly thought that it was odd that he cared this much. Should he? He didn't really think so. It was Zabini's own business what he read. It wasn't a control thing that said that no one got newspapers in Slytherin—at least not on his part. Many of their parents didn't want them to see that bad things that were being written about their Lord. He honestly wouldn't have cared if Zabini had begun subscribing to _The Daily Prophet_, but...

But _The Quibbler_? Why in God's name did he want to read _The Quibbler_? That was a loon paper! It... it... it was edited by Lovegood's father!

"Fuck what?" Zabini asked in his long, drawling voice. Draco just stood with his mouth open, trying to process what he was thinking. He was usually not this controlling-not of his friends. The only person he monitored like this was Pansy, and that, as far as he was concerned, was his right as her boyfriend. He didn't open his mouth and stammer as many would do, he was much too civilized for that, but he didn't say anything for a long while, either. Finally, he caught his tongue.

"How in the fell did you get that issue of _The Quibbler_?" he asked, his voice faltering and changing just a bit. Zabini just smiled.

"From Lovegood, of course," he said easily, "she's the only one who has this newspaper. You would never guess how interesting Triple-Toed Groglers are."

"When did you talk to Loony?" he asked, knowing that his uncontrolled anger was showing in his flushed cheeks. Zabini smirked, as if he had just proved something.

"After the 'epidsode' I ran into her," he said. Draco stiffened. The episode? "You'd never guess the strange things she has on her mind," he continued. Draco could see a larger smirk spreading over his face, as though this was all proving something he had suspected for a long while. Draco scowled at him, and though he wanted to yell at him, he couldn't manage it. His mouth stayed glued shut. "Honestly, she just randomly piped up and asked if I wanted an issue and I said sure. I don't believe she's as empty-headed as people believe-she is, after all, a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaws don't come empty-headed. I figured it might be interesting, and lo and behold, it is," Zabini finished, looking at Draco with interest. Draco just stood, seemingly dumbfounded, still trying to keep his glare on his face. He was succeeding relatively well. He finally came up to say something.

"But the incident happened over a week ago!" Draco said angrily, surprising even himself by how uncontrolled he sounded.

"Then do the math," Zabini said coldly. Draco's jaw fell, but he recovered—sort of.

"But who talks to Loony Lovegood?" he asked desperately, "Who even cares?"

"You, apparently," Zabini said before stepping around one of his only friends. Before he walked away, he turned around. "Wouldn't have pinned you as the type… or, actually, not as the type to show it."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco was utterly, completely, totally angry. Beyond recognition, beyond reason, he was pissed off. _I do not care!_ Draco thought angrily as he took long strides down an abandoned hallway. _I do not care about Loony Bloody Lovegood! Why in the bloody hell would I care about her? I don't! I wouldn't! She's just a girl-a normal girl. One who's loony. One who I like to make fun of. She mixes things up with how crazy she is, but there is absolutely no reason why I would care about her!_

_That's right-no reason at all. I don't and I never did. I'm just upset because Zabini is a friend and he went behind my back. Because... because if it weren't for that I wouldn't care. Not at all. _

As soon as he finished his almost incoherent internal rant, Draco subconsciously stuck his hand in his pocket. He fingered the list, folding and unfolding it in between his fingers. A sigh escaped from his lips, and his pace slowed considerably. He looked around quickly before ducking into a doorway in an abandoned hallway and pulling out the list from the safety of his robe pocket.

The fact that he still had the list frightened him. It didn't mean anything to him. He didn't care was Lovegood thought of him. The list was funny-she sounded so desperate, so lonely and... so... injured.

But it wasn't as though that was new to Draco-that injured sounding girl. He had heard it before. It wasn't like him to keep track of who he injured. He didn't care. Just like he didn't care about Luna-not even a little bit, not even at all. He didn't care because he wasn't supposed to care. He didn't care because his father hadn't cared. He didn't care because his Lord didn't care.

Lovegood... Lovegood was just another victim. She was just another weak girl-another weak girl with another exploitable soft spot. She was amusement, and that was it. She was just like every other girl he knew, just like every other source of amusement... She wasn't pure, she wasn't overly beautiful, she wasn't intelligent. The only thing Luna was, the only thing she would be, was incredibly loony. And who, who in their right mind, could ever care about someone so loony?

Certainly not him. He didn't care about her-he didn't care about anyone. Caring about people led to hurt. It led to pain. Caring about people led to mess-to a messy life, to a messy death, to a messy existence. He had watched people around him make that mistake-his mum, his grandfather, his friends... All of them had gotten hurt, gotten crushed, and become as cold and worn as he was. But he had become the worn person he was by watching them rather than living their pain. It was safer that way. He, of all people, knew how safe it was not to care.

Usually, he blocked the pain that he had witnessed out. But as his mind was in such an unusual state of turmoil, he couldn't stop the images that were floating through his brain. Most prominent of all were images of his mum crying, those images that he had been exposed to so often as a boy. The older he got, the less he saw his mum standing alone in a corner, head in her hands, loud sobs wracking her body. The older he got, the less his parents fought. The older he got, the more his mother focused her energy on him rather than his father. The older he got, the tighter her face became, the less comforting her bosom was. He was young when he had to grow up...

_But_, he thought quickly, _if it weren't for how fast I had to grow up, I wouldn't have the armor I have now. Things would hurt._

Draco pulled away from his thoughts, suddenly very alarmed by all of the self-doubt he was experiencing. He never doubted the things that he did. He had the armor for a reason. A good reason. He was raised the way he was for a good reason. All of these things were with reason-and he wouldn't take any of them back. But just then... just then he felt as though he had missed his world. He felt like he had seen his childhood flying by. He felt desperately out of control, and he didn't like it.

Before he could completely pull himself out of his thoughts, he heard footsteps behind him. He composed himself as well as he could in the moment he had to prepare, before a very familiar voice came from behind him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Draco?" Pansy asked. Draco looked up sharply, already feeling his face fall back into its normal position.

"What, Pansy?" he asked, the regular testy edge hanging around his voice. He stood up quickly and whipped around so that he was facing Pansy. Brushing himself off, he gave Pansy his best glare and tried to get past her. To his surprise, Pansy blocked him, though she tried to play it off as though she didn't mean to. Draco strengthened his glare, but allowed her to block him. He, for once, was interested in what she had to say.

"Oh—Draco. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," she said, feigning innocence. Draco didn't feel like fighting with her, so he nodded slightly.

"Not like I make it a habit to sit there," he acknowledged. Pansy looked as though she were going to ask him something, but it appeared as though she lost her nerve.

"Yeah... yeah," she said softly. "Hey, um, Draco?" she asked.

"What?" he growled, sounding much more menacing than he meant to. Pansy flinched, but he didn't see her change in resolve like before.

"What... what were you doing there?" she asked. Draco paused and looked at her, wondering what possessed her to ask that.

"Just-"Draco stopped suddenly, at a loss for words. What was he doing here? He didn't give himself enough time to think of an answer, and instead said briefly, "Oh, bugger off." Without giving an explanation or another word, he stormed out of the hallway, leaving a stunned and teary Pansy behind him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco careened down the hallway, hand shoved in his pocket, longingly letting his fingers run over the list. He didn't understand it-he couldn't understand it. Why in the hell did this bloody letter mean so much to him? When he first received it, he couldn't let it go. He couldn't throw it away and laugh at it when people brought it up. It was strange, he shouldn't care at all, but whenever someone mentioned that laughable list, he got tense. He should have been able to make fun of it. He should have been able to brush it off. But he couldn't. And those feelings of not being able to control his emotions toward the list did not change over time-they only got worse. The list went from residing in one of his books, to one of his drawers, to under his bed, to under his pillow. For some reason, he took comfort in knowing the list was there, and he could not, for the life of him, begin to understand it.

His fingers traced the folded lines of one of the pieces of parchment on which Loony had written the list. He shook his head vigorously and started down to Loony's tree, hoping to let out some steam by doing something-anything to her that reminded him that he most certainly did not care about her-remind him that he most certainly did not care about what she had written on the list. He didn't care what she thought of him, he didn't care what anyone thought of him. He needed to let her know that... by... by rubbing her loopy nose in it and laughing when she fell apart. He needed, he needed so badly to see her in pain that he caused to remind himself that he did have power. There were very few things in his life that he had power over. Everything was controlled by his Head of House, by his Headmaster, by his Father, by his Lord. But he controlled the way he felt, and when he felt like even that little amount of control was slipping from his fingers...

It was simply too much to bear.

Just as he was about to leave the building and head out to the grounds, a blur of pale skin and even paler blonde hair flew past him, sprinting away from something as fast as her gawky chicken legs could carry her. For a moment, Draco was stunned, but he came to.

"Hey!" he yelled, "Watch where you're going, filth!"

As soon as the words left his lips, he felt bad. Again with these emotions! He couldn't stand not being able to control these things... With an expression that even felt pained on his face, the girl turned around to reveal the tear-stained and distressed face of Luna Lovegood. There was a look of blank horror painted all over her face.

Draco faltered for a moment, feeling his jaw go slack as he saw how completely unglued she looked. He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and laughed, as un-mercilessly and loudly as he could manage. Luna's face went from pathetic, confusion-ridden heartbreak to angry and menacing in an instant. Her face turned red and her mouth parted as if she were going to say something. She seemed to reconsider and her mouth again went slack. Draco watched this with happiness. For once in the day, he felt as though he had control again. It was nice, to see how shocked and horrified she was, to see how pained she looked. It made him know that he still had control-something that he desperately needed. But as he went longer and longer, feeling the smirk on his lips, watching Luna with her slack jaw and morose eyes, the happiness that he felt melted away. For the first time in a long time, he just felt awful. He looked at her, looked at the way she appeared as though her heart had been wrenched out of her body-and that was before he had insulted her. She seemed shocked, angry, and completely unable to control herself. He could identify with the feeling.

He felt so awful, but he had no idea how to express that sort of emotion. He didn't know how he was supposed to apologize... he didn't even know if he wanted to. Before he could make up his mind, however, Luna started talking.

"Malfoy," she said softly, as if she were still trying to decided whether or not she wanted to say anything, "Malfoy," she repeated. Draco knew that under normal circumstances, he would have made some sort of snarky comment, but he found that his mouth was sealed shut.

"Yes," he finally said, hearing his own stiffness in his voice.

"One hundred and one reasons why I hate you," she said, stepping toward him quickly, "but then... but then the only thing that means anything," she continued, her voice raising as she got closer and closer to him, pain still painted clearly on her face, "is that I hate you, loathe you, despise you with every fiber of my being because-" Draco leaned forward and stepped towards Luna then, but the words got caught in her throat. He was about to demand her to tell him what she was going to say, but Girl-Weasel came up behind him and barraged past, grabbing Luna by the hand.

"She hates you because you're a bloody git!" she screamed at him, tugging at Luna's hand and dragging her away.

"Yeah... bloody git," he chimed softly as he watched Girl-Weasel drag Luna away.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco's kind of OOC… don't hurt me.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

That's all.


	6. The Game

I. Hate. Ginny. PASSIONATELY. You have no idea how hard it is for me to write her as a character with a positive influence on Luna. I hate her. So much. IT BURNS THE VERY PIT OF MY EXISTENCE. You will probably see every other POV possible, but I flat out refuse to include Ginny. It ain't happening. EVER.

I just thought I'd get that out there so you don't expect it or anything.

Blaise POV in this chapter. I've started fooling around with POV's, and now I can't be stopped.

You've unleashed a monster. Hoorah!

Oh, and, Draco seems kind of OOC in this chapter… I'm going back in the next chapter and explaining his life and why he's acting this way… all comes back to how uncertain about himself he really is, even if he can't reveal it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna didn't say anything as Ginny dragged her away, cursing under her breath. All she could do was think back to how much it hurt...

God, he was an idiot. But then, somehow, the fact that he was such an idiot didn't really upset her. She knew he was a git. She had always known he was a git. It was the fact that she let it get to her that was upsetting. She was used to people being awful to her. She was used to being teased. Heck, she thrived off of being teased. But Draco's awfulness bugged her so much.

"That bloody git! Hell, Luna, that must have convinced you that you were... I don't know, hallucinating or something. You can't possibly like that, how in the world are you supposed to love it?" Luna shrugged, and Ginny looked at her, as if trying to read her mind. But the truth of the matter was, even if Ginny could read her mind, she wouldn't understand. She would probably be even more confused if she could see the workings of Luna's mind.

"Ginny," Luna said softly, looking up at the girl who towered a solid five centimeters over her. "Please stop it."

"You can't, Lu, you can't," Ginny said, looking at Luna harshly, as if daring her to claim otherwise.

"How in the hell would I know?" Luna asked. Ginny seemed prepared to answer until she said that.

"What?"

"How would I know whether I love him or not? I don't know what love is. I can't remember. I haven't experienced love in over seven years. So how would I know?" Ginny paused, watching Luna with her big, brown eyes.

"Oh, Lu..." she said softly, stopping completely and running her hand through her hair. Luna shook her head quickly and started walking again, not wanting to get into this conversation.

"Look, it's nothing, really. Just... just I wouldn't know, ok? I might or might not. My opinion changes on the hour, mostly because I just don't know. And I don't know that I ever will. So if you don't mind, I'm confused enough without you telling me what to think. I'll either figure it out, or I won't. Either way, you're daft if you think I'm going to act on it. You know me better than that," Luna said, giving Ginny a half-assed smile.

"The Luna I know, actually, would act on it," Ginny said stubbornly, forcing Luna to stop and look at her. Luna sucked in a large amount of air and let it all flow back out.

"I know," she said, sounding defeated.

"Then you know my concerns," Ginny said matter-of-factly, turning and starting to walk again. She seemed confused when she didn't hear Luna's feet right behind her. She turned around and Luna looked at the expression on her face. "What?" Ginny asked, her head tilted to the side. Luna almost laughed—she would have if she hadn't been so tense.

"I know your concerns, but I also know you have no reason to be concerned in reality. This is Draco Malfoy. He's practically the definition of heartless. I've had my heart ripped out of my chest enough times; I don't need it to happen again. I can avoid that if I don't act on anything I'm feeling," Luna said easily. Ginny's hands found their way up to her hips yet again, and she stood like that, hands placed firmly on her hips and her mouth a thin line for several minutes.

"That doesn't sound like—" Ginny started. Luna stopped her quickly.

"Ginny," Luna snapped, "I've spent half of my life hiding my emotions. Maybe this will be harder, but I don't think it will. You are the only person in the world who knows me well enough to know that it will be hard at all. You're the only one who will be able to tell—you're the only one who will care. I can handle it," Luna said irritably. Once again, Luna left before Ginny could respond. But if she had looked behind her, she would have seen the hands a very dejected looking Ginny falling from her hips to hang uselessly at her side.

"I'm not the only one who cares, Luna," Ginny said softly, but Luna was already much too far away to hear it.

**Draco's POV**

Draco was... well, he really didn't know how to describe it. He didn't know that he had ever felt this way. He thought he was out of control when he was thinking about Luna before, but now... even the threat of her entering his mind made him feel... weird. He couldn't place it. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't place it because he had never felt this way. He felt so... bad. He felt awful. He could not believe Luna felt that way.

It wasn't as though other people hadn't told him similar things. He had heard it all before. But something about Lovegood made him feel just awful. There was something about the way she said it, the way she looked as though what he said really _mattered_ to her. She always looked so strong, so oblivious… but then, she hadn't looked strong at all. She had looked like a desperate girl who needed relief. She looked like someone who had put up with too much for too long. She looked confused, angry, hurt.

And he _didn't_ care.

Draco walked past the entrance to the Slytherin common room yet again. Every time he passed it, he felt that he should go in it, but he just couldn't bring himself to. Not with all of these things flying through his mind…

He kept on pacing, keeping his hands securely behind his back, head bowed down, letting uncontrolled thoughts soar through his head without any attempts to bring them back. He could not; he simply could _not_, begin to describe how he felt about Luna. He did not like her. He did not care about her. She was just Loony Lovegood. She was amusement. She was put on this earth so he would have something to laugh at.

But at the same time… at the same time he _did _like her, and it made him nervous. He liked that she was not afraid to be herself. He liked that she did whatever the hell she wanted to whenever the hell she wanted to. He liked that she had this weird little half-smile. He liked that he knew that wasn't her real smile—he liked that he wanted to see her real smile. He liked that he was sure very few people had ever seen her real smile. He liked her eyes. They reminded him of his. He liked her lips—they were so soft and…

As soon as he realized what he was thinking, Draco felt a blush tingling on his cheeks and he nearly screamed with frustration. He did _not _care about her. He didn't! But then… but then even if he ignored the fact that he was certainly thinking about how innocently kissable her lips looked, he _did _care about her, obviously, or he wouldn't be spending this much time worrying about her.

But he _couldn't _care about her. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't; yet no one had ever stuck in his thoughts like she had. Thoughts of girls were fleeting in Draco's mind, so fleeting, in fact, he could ignore them without any problems. But Loony would not leave his head… had he ever spent more than two hours thinking about any girl? About anyone period?

Why did he spend so much time bothering with her?

Even before he felt these… strange things about her, he had thought about her a lot. For most people, (besides, of course, Potter), he just did whatever he thought of to torture them. But Lovegood was different. He thought about it. He thought about what would hurt her, what would make her cringe. He wanted to know how she worked so he could cause as much pain as possible.

It was like, in a backwards sort of way, he cared about her.

He _cared _about her. The thought hit him hard, smacked him across the face with so much force that he was sure there would be a red mark across his cheek for days. He cared about her. _Her_. Luna Lovegood. He cared about her.

But he _couldn't_. He simply _didn't_. He couldn't care about Lovegood, and he wouldn't. He refused to. What made her so special? Nothing besides weird eyes and an even weirder personality. There was absolutely nothing special or endearing about that. And even if there were, Draco didn't care about special and endearing. He cared about blood, money, and looks. So why would he think he might care about her above all these other people that he _should _care about?

He didn't care about anyone—especially not anyone who was as impure, loony,determinedly herself, annoyingly vague, dreamy out of her mind, and completely against everything he had been raised to believe was beautiful as Lovegood. Beautiful was a girl with high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, eyes that didn't try to look past the exterior. Beautiful was a girl who was ready to give up everything, who was shaped just right, who had a pretty smile but not a smile that was deep or mysterious in any way. Beautiful was a girl with deep pockets, a girl who didn't need his money. Beautiful was a girl who would contribute to his social standing rather than tearing it down. Beautiful was not Lovegood.

Lovegood's cheekbones were… were they? He didn't know that he had ever looked. Draco wasn't actually sure whether her cheekbones were high or not. She did have piercing eyes, but they were piercingly… strange. They were empty, but empty in a way that they were… full. Not full or what they were supposed to be full of, like intelligence or kindness, but full of something much more hopeful, something much more beautiful. Something much more… dreamy. And when he looked into those strangely alive eyes, he felt like she was reading his mind. Those eyes certainly _did _look past the exterior. Draco could not imagine Loony being easy. She wore so many baggy clothes and so much distracting jewelry that he wasn't sure whether she had a good body or not. Lovegood didn't have a pretty smile; she had a mesmerizing _beautiful_ smile that was so fleeting it was one of the most mysterious things about her. Her pockets weren't deep. Her father couldn't earn anything at that newspaper of his. She would tear down his social standing in a moment.

No, Luna was not what he was supposed to find beautiful. But at the same time, Luna was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he could not even begin to imagine why he thought so.

Before he realized what he had just revealed to himself, something else of huge consequence popped into his brain.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, "I was calling her Luna," he heard footsteps behind him and froze solidly in place.

"Figuring something out, Draco?" a much-too familiar voice asked him.

"Zabini," he said softly. "Well fuck."

**Blaise's POV**

Blaise had never thought much of Draco's intelligence. Yes, technically, he was some sort of genius—especially at potions. And Blaise had little doubt that he could definitely give Potter a run for his money—not much of one, but he would at least make him work—in a duel. But as far as emotions were concerned, Draco was the dumbest human on the face of the earth. He was dense, stubborn, and all of his ideas about love had been shoved down his throat for years. One thing Blaise was not sure about, though, was whether Draco had shoved those thoughts down his throat himself, or whether it had been his mother and father.

Blaise picked underneath his fingernails, inspecting them for a few moments while he sorted out his thoughts. When it came down to it, he liked Luna a lot. He liked the way she wasn't afraid of him, the way she wasn't afraid of what people thought of him. Or her, for that matter. He respected that about her. And she was incredibly interesting. Fascinating, rather. It seemed like she was simplest of simple things—it seemed like she was simply crazy and nothing else. But after talking to her only twice, he knew that wasn't the case.

He supposed it was the way her eyes darted when they should have been blank. Or the way she paused when she spoke, as if trying to come up with the right thing to say. And no matter how hard she tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice, it came back frequently. It was actually cute, the way she tried to hide how shaky her voice was.

It was strange that he liked her so much, but he did. He was simply fascinated by Luna Lovegood.

Girls didn't catch Blaise's eye often. It took a lot for him to give girls a second thought. But ever since the incident, his thoughts had been plagued with the girl, and he hadn't the vaguest clue why.

_Do it the easy way, or do it the fun way? _he asked himself. _The easy way, it's almost guaranteed you get the girl. You're just there for her—easy enough, especially if you actually like her, which you do. _But there were risks with the easy way, and he was well aware of them. If he went the easy way, it was likely he'd get bored of her within a few weeks. He really didn't want to get bored of her. He wanted to see what she was really like. So the fun way, then? _That's stupid,_ he thought stubbornly, _she already likes him and you know it. What if she chooses him over you?_

_I want a challenge. It's no fun if it isn't a challenge._

Blaise paced for a few moments right around the corner from where he could hear Draco, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Finally, he straightened himself up and looked around the corner to see the other boy. _I pride myself in taking challenges, I can take this one._ Blaise took a deep breath and stepped back a bit, watching Draco.

He had been watching Draco with interest for several minutes before he heard Draco murmur "Luna." It threw him off. Draco was thinking about Luna…? Why?

Draco looked like a madman, the way he was pacing. His lips were moving slightly and his head had been bowed over. _He… _Blaise started, _he…likes her_.

The fun way had just gotten ten times as dangerous—and ten times as challenging.

"Bring it on."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Figuring something out, Draco?" Blaise asked, grinning.

"Zabini," Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. "well fuck," Blaise swallowed hard, wondering why he was so nervous, but Draco was looking down, so he didn't notice. "Fuck!" he said louder. Blaise pushed all caution to the wind and laughed, which caused Draco to glare at him.

"You're dense," Blaise stated matter-of-factly, leaning lazily against a wall.

"What?" Draco said. It seemed to be the last thing he expected to come out of his mouth. At that, Blaise laughed.

"I said you're dense," he repeated. Draco continued to look at him incredulously.

"Excuse me?" he asked, obviously on edge. Blaise put up his hands and tried to make it look like he wasn't going to get into anything.

"Look, Drake, I'm just saying that you're not the brightest when it comes to relationships," he said. _Ok, here we go. No turning back. You're either going to bag her and not get bored, or you're going to fail and he's going to get what he wants again. Even if he doesn't know he wants it yet. _Draco's jaw dropped.

"Please tell me what you're saying," Draco said quietly.

"I'm tired of watching you trying to figure out what goes on in your mind," Blaise said, hoping Draco didn't notice how rapidly his chest was rising and falling. "So let me tell you. You don't know what to think about this one because she's different," _true enough_, "and you're not used to different," he said, watching Draco carefully for a response. Draco just opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to decipher what Blaise was telling him.

"Well, yeah, Loony's bloody different," Draco snorted. "That's like her whole goal in life, to be different." Blaise chuckled. _Yeah, yeah it is. And I understand why, and you don't._

"I suppose."

"So why are you pointing this out?" Draco snarled. Again, Blaise laughed, taking a great amount of joy in the expression on Draco's face.

_Here it comes… _"I thought it might help you work something out," he said. _There it went._ "Playing chase without a race is no fun."

"What in the name of Merlin are you talking about?"

"But I certainly don't need a race," Blaise continued, "after all, catching her will be difficult enough, I certainly don't _need _your antics to make it interesting. I just thought that if I pointed out how different she was, you might work something out and make this more fun for me," Blaise stopped and leaned against the wall of the dungeon. "So, did you work something out?"

"I don't need to work out anything," he said, his voice not sounding very convincing. "I don't even know what you want me to work out."

"She's interesting, isn't she?" Blaise drawled, picturing Luna. She really did have the strangest qualities—the most fascinating of which was her eyes. They way they were always clouded over… but sparkling at the same time. "Of all the girls I've seen, she's interested me the most. I mean, I'm not saying I particularly like her or anything," _Lie_, "but she plagues my thoughts, you know? Almost as if I _care _about her," _Easy enough to care about her when she has that innocent act—when she looks at you like she actually believes in you_.

"I don't care about her," Draco said quickly, scowling. "I don't care for her, I don't care for anyone."

"I know, Prince," Blaise said. _Ok, it's really final now. As soon as you say this she'll never leave his thoughts, and sooner or later he's going to figure out why, and he'll go after her just like you're going after her. _ No sooner had he thought the words than something spilled out of his mouth. "You've never cared an ounce for anyone in your life, and you never will. Sooner or later, Malfoy, you're going to have to figure out that Dark Marks and controlling parents don't govern feelings. They can control everything about your life, and they've tried. I know they have. They've tried the same thing on me. And for a time, it seems as though they can control your emotions. But they can't. Not forever. And when you realize that not even the most powerful of magic can create or reign in feelings forever, you'll realize something that's been looking you straight in the face for much too long: maybe you don't care about Loony," _You better not, not for real_. "But you care about someone."

Draco glared at Blaise, and he braced himself for a punch, but it never came. "Shut the hell up," Draco said venomously as he flew down the hall.

"With pleasure," Blaise whispered as soon as he was out of sight, slumping down onto the stonewall. _Oh Merlin._ _He actually likes her._

_Shit._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm really interested to hear what you guys think about Blaise. I, myself, love him, of course, and most everyone has replied saying that they like him too. But this Blaise? Hmm… I want to hear from you guys about that! Oh, and remember I told you to vote and decide whether you wanted it to be non-HBP compliant or canon? I GOT ONE VOTE FOR NON-HBP COMPLIANT AND ONE FOR CANON. I NEED MORE PEOPLE'S OPINIONS, BECAUSE I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE WILL WORK BETTER.

Thanks!

Reviews please!


	7. The Chapter Miri Uploaded

MIRI HERE: hello, I am you friendly neiborhood Miri updating the story because the author's computer is dumb and seems to hate fanfiction at the moment. This chapter was ready a looooong time before I thought of the brilliant idea of uploading from my computer (don't hurt me) So it really isn't late at all. Happy reading.

No longer Miri:

In this chapter, Luna is emo and angst-ridden (so much so, in fact, that I'm going to warn you about it in a minute) and Draco remembers his childhood.

IT WAS SO GOING TO BE ON TIME! In fact, it was, but then fanfiction hated me and wouldn't let me upload. It still won't, so my lovely Miri is doing it for me. So if my authors note isn't completely me… not my fault. XP

So… it's a bit short. But there's a lot of stuff to catch here, so just watch it, yeah? And there's three parts in italics. The first two are dreams, that should be pretty obvious. But the third? Well, frankly, I don't know. It wrote itself. It was just supposed to be an angry dialogue between Narcissa and Lucius, but then Draco wrote himself in. It's not a memory and it's not a dream, it's just what happened. I don't know what to call it.

WARNINGS: Luna is extremely emo in this chapter, It's not really worth a warning, but when I wrote it I felt it was severe enough to give a heads up... which was contradictory, but I'm much too tired to care. (And it's only like 9:30. Damn). THERE IS ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER. It's not anything too extreme and it's not graphic at all. This is just a warning that it's there, and if it offends, I'm really sorry. It's simply meant to explain Draco's character… and I am reluctant to put it in, because Narcissa and Lucius LOVE each other and Lucius would never harm Narcissa. Just… I didn't like Draco, and I wanted to make him… more sympathetic? Yeah, sure.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna's POV

Ginny thought she knew her. She really did. And Luna appreciated that Ginny at least tried to know her. It was far better than she could say for anybody else… but really, when it got right down to it, Ginny did not know Luna. She simply didn't.

At the thought, Luna cringed. It had always been such a comfort to know that someone knew her, that someone could understand the way she felt. Ginny tried, she tried so hard… but the way Luna thought was beyond Ginny. The way Luna thought was beyond everyone, occasionally even herself.

Luna wasn't sure when, but at some point, she had wandered down into the dungeons in the midst of her thoughts. She knew she was supposed to be wishy washy and distracted, but only recently had this actually leaked into her real life. More and more often she would find herself on auto-pilot, only to find that her auto-pilot was broken. It was starting to wear her down, the amount of time she spent figuring out where she was and retracting her steps. However, even in the last few weeks, her random wanderings had never led her into the dungeons. Something about the place made even her subconscious mind want to stay away from it… She shuddered. It was cold down here, and she had, as intelligently as ever, come down here in only her muggle clothing. She clutched at the scarf she was wearing underneath her bottlecap necklace. It was unsatisfactorily silky… she had bought it on some vacation to some place that she really hadn't been paying attention to… but wherever it had been, it was apparently warm there, for the scarf was doing nothing but making her colder.

Luna was boiling mad. There was no other way to put it. She was angry with Ginny for making her think of all of the people who would not care for her—not ever, she was mad at Draco for being one of those people, she was mad at herself for caring. She was mad at her mother for leaving her, she was mad at her father for not loving her. She was mad at The Quibbler for dragging her father away from her, she was mad at herself for letting herself disappear behind the shield that the newspaper provided for her. She was mad at her housemates for not accepting her, she was mad at herself for being sorted into the damned house. She was mad at everyone who had teased her, she was mad at the Professors for not noticing. She was mad at Neville for being afraid of her, she was mad at herself for being frightening to someone who had never been anything but frightened. She was mad at so many people—but mostly she was mad at herself. She was mad at herself for not being who she was, she was mad at herself for being who she was. She was mad at herself for shrugging everyone away, she was mad at herself for letting them get close to her. She was mad at herself for being so confused, she was mad at herself for blaming herself, she was mad at herself because she could never do anything right, she was mad at herself because she was mad at herself.

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault that her mother died; it wasn't her fault that part of her father died with her. It wasn't her fault that The Quibbler swallowed her father up; it wasn't her fault that she couldn't stop it. But then… but then so much was her fault. It was her fault that she hid behind the newspaper. It was her fault that she acted the way she acted. It was her fault she pushed people away, her fault that she let people get close.

Luna became acutely aware of the tears that were rapidly streaming down her cheeks, burning her eyes and settling, cold and angry, on her face. She wiped away at them desperately, but new tears kept on taking their place. No matter how many she wiped away, more came to replace them. Finally, Luna put down her hand and sank against the cold dungeon wall, not caring that if a Slytherin came by, she would surely need to pay a visit to the Hospital Wing. She didn't care. They could do whatever they wanted…

If it was pain, maybe that was what she wanted, too.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco tensed when he heard what sounded like strangled sobs coming from somewhere in the Dungeons. That did not happen. It was completely unheard of. Slytherin girls might have cried, but they did not do it someplace so open, so vulnerable. No one in Slytherin ever wanted to look that hopelessly vulnerable.

Cautiously, Draco peered around the corner. He stopped flat when he recognized the huddle of shaking blonde hair as Luna Lovegood.

This, he thought shakily, is how I prove to myself that I don't care about her… Before he could do something stupid, before he could go against everything he knew, he turned away as quickly as he could and went rushing back into the safety of the Slytherin common room, where there was no crying girl lying on the floor, looking way too helpless for her own good, letting her sobs ring through the hall…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mum," Draco said, looking around for his mother. He clutched the toy wand he had been given as a present a few days before, seeking comfort from it.

Everything was cold. The air was cold, the ground was cold, his stiff-collared shirt was cold. He was used to the Malfoy Manor being chilly, but this was so incredibly cold… he felt as though he should be able to see his breath inside his room.

"Mum," he said again, louder this time. It was time for him to be sleeping, he knew, but there weren't enough blankets on his bed, the cold was reaching down into his bones. He just needed another blanket, that was all, and he would be able to go to sleep for as long as his mother needed to.

She always told him that he was to stay in bed during naptime. She said it was her quiet time. But he was so cold, and he was so tired…

"Mum!" he said even louder. Cautiously, he opened the door to his room and stepped outside. The hallway was long and quiet. He looked up at the portraits that lined the wall, watching him with varied amounts of interest and disgust. The portraits had always made him anxious. They were so big, and the people in them said mean things. No matter what he was doing, Draco felt like they were watching him, and it made him nervous. Today, though, it was definitely not his imagination. The portraits were watching him, all looking more interested than they usually did. Draco let out a little squeak and started to run down the hallway, looking for his mother in the place's where he usually found her. Not in the den, not in the dining room, not in his fathers study, not in her study…

Draco didn't like not knowing where his mother was. She was the one who gave him the things he needed. He didn't have a house elf yet; his mother insisted he was too young. He depended heavily on his mother. Looking up at the big door that stood in front of him, Draco took a harsh breath. He wasn't allowed in that room… it was his parent's bedroom.

Quietly, Draco sat down and leaned his ears against the door, listening to see if his mother was in there. He heard something, but he wasn't sure what it was. It sounded like someone in there had a cold, because they kept on sniffling, which no one ever did unless they were sick. Draco slowly pushed the door open, holding on carefully to his toy wand as he did so. When he looked in, he saw the window was wide open, and his mother was sitting in the corner by the closet, huddled against herself and shaking. Draco didn't know what to do, so he went over and sat next to his mother. She looked up and tried to smile, but her quivering lips and red eyes gave away her state. He tried to do something by reaching up and wiping away foreign tears from her face. This time, his mother's smile was genuine. She wrapped Draco up in a hug, whispering in his ear, "Don't you ever become like your father. You're much too precious…"

"Cold," he said quietly as his mother was hugging him. She laughed, a deep, beautiful laugh, and stood up. She opened the closet doors and grabbed two extra blankets. She gave him one and took the other, her free hand grabbing his, and took him back to his room.

"Go to sleep, Draco," she said softly, kissing the top of his head and pulling the covers further up.

"Love you, Mum," he said sleepily. Her eyes softened, and she gave him one of those smiles that he knew was reserved just for him.

"Love you too, Draco," she said, before extinguishing the candles in his room and closing the door. "Love you."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco shot up in his bed, nearly banging his head against one of the many poles.

"Oh for the…" he started, putting his head in his hands. He hadn't had a dream like that in ages. It was one of the tenderest moments he had ever shared with anyone. It reminded him of his mother before she really gave up on his father. It reminded him of how things could have been, if his father could have kept his dick in his pants. It reminded him that at some point, his mother was completely human, and at another, so was his father. It reminded him that he did have a weakness, no matter how far down he had stuffed it. Draco let out a groan and threw his head back down on his pillow. Whenever he closed his eyes, however, the image of the smile his mother used to give him flashed back into his head.

How long had it been since he had seen that smile? Years. Many years. The incident in that dream happened when he was three, four at the latest. By the time he was six, his mother was completely ruined from waiting for his father to get his priorities straight and realizing that he never would. The last time he had seen that smile he was probably five years old. Eleven years…

People wondered why he was the way he was. They shouldn't. It was because his mother had given up on his father and his father had molded him into the perfect son—the clone of himself. But once he was molded, was there anything else for him to do? Draco served no purpose to his father after he believed everything he believed, did everything he did. So, Draco became cold and tight-fisted. He believed muggles were filthy, half bloods were poor excuses for wizards, and supporters of such filth were his enemy. He didn't believe in or have respect for Dumbledore or any of the others who supported the crusades of the 'talented' mudbloods. And because he was so much like his father, his mother had given up on him, too. His father had beaten the only chance he had at being loved out of him…

This is the way my mother thinks, Draco heard himself think despairingly. The way my mother thinks is weak. I can't be weak! He thought fiercely, almost bearing his teeth just at the thought.

There were many things Draco was, but one of them was not a weakling.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Don't," he said coldly when his mother tried to wrap him up in an embrace. "I'm not your little boy." Narcissa had looked at him, shocked, sad, and painfully quiet.

"Yes, dear," she whispered, eyes looking dangerously liquid. Draco felt his own resolve shake slightly at the sight of her pale blue orbs threatening to overflow with tears. He bit back his initial urge to smother his mother with a hug, one that he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in for years.

"Have a good year," his father said, voice filled with false well wishings. Draco suppressed the instinct to roll his eyes and instead bowed very stiffly towards his father. He did not miss the satisfied smirk on his father's face when he came back up.

"Thank you, Draco," he said, sneering. Draco had simply lowered his eyes and glanced at the ground, feeling his eyes turn hard. He looked back up at his father.

"Thank you, father," he said. Father smiled. In the back of his mind, he could practically hear what he knew his father wanted to say.

'Good boy, Draco.'

Yes, good boy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco pulled out of his daydream with a start, looking around the potions room foggily. Next to him, he heard Blaise snort.

"You are so lucky he likes you," he whispered. Draco moaned and looked up to see Snape eyeing him warily.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said in a quiet, even tone, "I would appreciate it if you would pay attention in my class. Fair warning." His voice certainly was warning, and if he had been a Gryffindor he would have feared for his life. As it was, he was not a Gryffindor, nor a lowly Slytherin. He was far beyond that, and he knew it would take a lot for Snape to act on any sort of displeasure with Lucius Malfoy's son. Nonetheless, he propped himself up on his elbow and watched the lesson through half-open eyes.

Good boy, Draco.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lucius, damn it, would you bloody stop it and listen to me?" But he won't stop, four-year-old Draco can tell by the way he's trying to get up the stairs, by the way he's focusing only on the door to his study above his wife's head. He rolls his eyes.

"Get out of my way, woman," he snarls. Draco looks at his eyes. They look the same as they usually do. They're cold, they're dead. His eyes aren't blazing with anger, they're worse. They're frighteningly empty, like Narcissa could die tomorrow and it wouldn't matter to him at all. Those are eyes daring Narcissa to care. And she does. She cares too much. Draco can tell this by the time he's four. No one should care for his father, because his father cares for no one.

"Lucius, you're hurting Draco, you're hurting me, you're hurting us! I've always been able to count on you to care about our relationship, and you're throwing it away right in front of my eyes! What in the hell is wrong with you?" she pleas. They won't do any good. Pleas just make him angrier. He doesn't like it when Narcissa doesn't obey orders immediately. Draco wants to go out and pull on her sleeve, tell her to come back and get him juice, just so she doesn't get in too much trouble. But he doesn't want him to get angrier, so he stays in the shadows of the doorway and watches.

"Get out of my way, Narcissa," his eyes are no longer so cold. They are warm, hot. Those are not eyes that are daring Narcissa to care; those are eyes that are telling Narcissa to stop caring. When he sees those eyes Draco knows he must have cared at some point, to want Narcissa to stop so badly. It is, after all, for her own good.

"Tell me what's wrong!" she insists, tears flowing out of her pale blue eyes. Draco draws further back into the shadows. He won't be pleased.

"You're wearing on my patience, woman," he growls, barely opening his tight lips. The eyes are hot now, flaring with impatience and anger. Those are the eyes that come before trouble.

"What do you want? Do you want Draco to grow up and be afraid of his own father? Is that what you want? Because I can start instilling the fear right now," Narcissa says. He pulls his hand back and smacks her, hard. Narcissa stands her ground, clutching her cheek and biting her bottom lip. She must have started doing this a while ago, because bright red blood drips onto the white marble floor. She keeps her head down, looking at the drop of blood, but she does not move. It is dangerous, and Draco knows this.

"WOMAN, GET OUT OF MY WAY!" he screams. He is beyond his boiling point now. Narcissa should move. She should have moved a long time ago. He pushes her back. She lands at the base on the stairs in a heap and he walks over to her, eyes ablaze. Narcissa looks afraid. She should be afraid. Draco doesn't like the look of his eyes.

"STOP IT!" she shrieks, curling into a ball and huddling against the base of the stairs. He is raving now.

"You will LISTEN to me, damn it," he swears, kicking her in the side, but not with the rage of a mad man now. Now it is a kick to remind her that she is not in charge, he is. He storms up the stairs.

In a moment, Draco will go out and sit down next to his mother. He will watch her cry. He will wish there was something he could do. But in a few years, his mother's weakness will be nothing but an annoyance. And a few years after that, Narcissa will have no weakness at all. Draco does not love her like he did when he was a child, and after she has lost his innocence, there is nothing to protect, no reason to fight, no weakness for her husband to exploit. After a few years, there is no screaming and there are no blows. Narcissa is broken and she is trained. She does not fight back anymore; she does not fight at all. And so she is safe.

But for now, Narcissa is still fighting against the man with the power, hoping, praying, that she can keep him away from her son. She loves him too much to let him turn into his father.

Narcissa will never forgive herself for failing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hate myself for doing that to Cissa and Luci.

Reviews will make me happier!

Sorry for the lack of updates… I've been uninspired. Might it be because of my lack of reviews? Hm? I'm not above begging, people.


	8. Love Is

LONG AUTHOR NOTE, SORRY. Read if you want to know why I'm being so sporadic with my updates.

Luna lies, Blaise reflects and regrets, and Ginny is an arse, which makes me rather happy. (I'm ignoring the fact that she's an arse because she's a concerned friend—that doesn't matter).

This chapter features… ABSOLUTELY NO DRACO. In fact, his name is only mentioned once. It also features (mostly) platonic!Blaise/Luna and revealed!Luna.

And… I feel like I have an excuse every single time I update, but honestly, I was trying to be on time:Flailsob:

Gah, ok, I still don't really like to talk about it, but a very good friend of mine had an episode awhile ago and he just got out of the hospital. We still don't really know what's wrong with him, other than that it caused his brain to bleed… a lot. By now, they've got it narrowed down to brain tumors or burst brain aneurisms, and I don't know which one is scarier. Tumors means cancer. (I mean, not necessarily, but in my mind). I have an insane fear of cancer due to seeing my Dad go through chemo in 1st grade. So, ok, I guess the actual cancer part of it scares me too, but the chemo almost scares me more. I don't think people who haven't watched what those on chemotherapy go through can really understand how freaky it is. They get so sick, and so thin, and so pale, and they're completely out of energy all the time… and especially with my dad, it was so not him. It just scared me a lot, and it scares me even more now. Gus + cancer equals freak out.

However, that being said… gaahhhhd. Let's just say I had an adult I was really close to have an aneurism a few years back. It did not end well. It, in fact, ended with permanent brain damage and… :squirm: I _really _don't like talking about her. SO, I have sufficiently been scared shitless.

THE LUCK I HAVE WITH THESE THINGS.

Yes, it's been a very crappy 2007, and you've had to deal with the story delays. I'm really sorry.

Ooh. And this chapter note was a really bad idea because now I'm even _more _scared shitless than I was before.

GAR. JUST READ AND REVIEW.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lovegood?" it was Zabini. She should move right now and pretend he hadn't seen her, she knew she should. But she didn't care enough to stand up. The cold of the dungeon walls felt good against her skin, hot with tears. Even if anyone were looking for her, they wouldn't think to search for her here. And she liked that. Quietly, Luna brought her head up from her arms and looked up at the boy. His arms were folded over his chest, but his eyes were searching her, almost as if he didn't know what to make of her. She scrunched closer to the wall upon his inspection, wiping away some tears from her eyes.

"I-I should leave," she said quietly, her arms hugging her knees.

"Yeah," Zabini agreed, but neither of them moved. Luna cleared her throat as if she was going to say something, but the words got caught in her mouth. She swallowed and stood up, her legs shaky from sitting so long.

"This'll probably attract a Kilin," Luna said as she started walking away. She swallowed hard and bit her bottom lip, wiping at the stray tears on her cheeks and re-wrapping her scarf. "Tears, you know, they feed off of them. Fascinating, isn't it? I wonder what it is in tears that attracts them… What I wouldn't give to see one," she babbled, keeping her head down and her eyes far away from Zabini's.

"Tell your dad to do an article," Zabini said, so softly Luna wasn't convinced she had heard him.

"I-er… what?" she asked, pausing. Zabini cleared his throat and took a step in her direction. She ignored her instinct to back away.

"Tell your dad to do an article," he repeated, "about Kilin's. I bet they're interesting."

"Yes, yes, fascinating. I'll bring it up the next time I'm home. Thank you, Blaise," she said, trying to keep her voice calm and level. Zabini smiled.

"No you won't."

Luna grabbed her robes and pulled them against her suddenly even more cold body. "Why, sure I will," she said sheepishly. As Zabini opened his mouth to respond, Luna quickly darted away and up the stairs.

_Hell, if he shows up to get me at the train station this time, I might actually be inclined to say something._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Luna ran away, there was one thought repeating over and over in his mind. _I am a bloody idiot. _That's all there was to it. He was an idiot of the highest order. He deserved to get shot for what he had done.

Honestly, Blaise had no idea what love was. But something told him that if he was ever going to find out, it would be with someone like Luna. Someone who wasn't afraid to be herself, wasn't afraid to let him be himself. Someone who laughed in the face of adversity, someone who took joy in being themselves and only themselves. Maybe she wasn't the most strikingly beautiful, not the most intelligent, but she exceeded in the art of thinking what she thought and not giving a rat's arse if anyone else appreciated it. And Blaise liked that.

Love… love wasn't even in the picture for Blaise. Love was some sort of foreign feeling, a strong feeling, one that could repel the darkest of dark magic by its sheer power and good. But beyond the tangible love, Blaise had no clue. He knew that love was supposed to come between two people who were married, but if his mother had loved any of her husbands, she had hid it well. Eaddy, Agoff, Obin, Hibbins, Nobbe, Quigleye, Todeschi, she didn't love any of them. Blaise knew she didn't love them, she knew she didn't love them, they knew she didn't love them. She didn't care, they didn't care, and why would he care? As long as it stayed far away from his life, she could marry as many men as she wanted. As long as he was allowed to stay in his manor and wait for a few months until they dropped dead, (_coincidence my arse, mother,_) Blaise didn't really care whether his mother loved the men she married or not.

To be fair to his mother, though, the men she married didn't love her, either. And they all knew it was dangerous, every last one of them. They weren't stupid, with the exception of Muckley. That guy was an idiot; he thought that his mother loved him. As if. She was in love with money. It was the only thing she had ever loved, it was the only thing she ever would love. No, what these men were in was _lust. _They wanted to marry his mother simply because they _wanted _her. His mother would never tell him, but he knew well enough that she refused to sleep with them until there was a ring on her finger, money in her bank account, and a will in her name.

_Lust_.

Disgusting, every last one of them. But who did he care? He had stopped tracking his mother's love life around the time he realized she wasn't going to change, not even for her son.

Love was… love was… But then, herein laid the problem. He couldn't even begin to say what love was. Technically, he supposed, he could say that love was a connection two people made that was… unbreakable? Nothing was unbreakable, though. Maybe that was what confused Blaise so much. Nothing was invincible, feelings least of all. So could love be a feeling, an attraction, if it was unbreakable?

He had come to the conclusion that, no, it could not. The things he read about in the old books he had found in the library when he was growing up were all lies made to make existence less painful for those who felt they had nothing. True love did not conquer age, time, family, and it certainly did not conquer death. Death was just as tangible for those who were in love as those who weren't. Fate didn't pick and chose around the happy couples, it planned and plotted the downfall of each and every human being. If you were loved, you were lucky. But you were not spared.

Love was a curtain, a veil, put on by people who were tired of seeing reality. People who fell in love were people who were tired of living their mundane lives, people who sought something different just because they believed there _was _something different. These people watched others on the streets, wondering if 'the one' had just passed them. They wasted their lives on waiting, waiting, waiting. Some were certain they had found what they were looking for; others remained lonely and waiting for their whole lives.

So then, what was love? Love was nothing but an illusion made to numb the pain. In the end, though, did it numb the pain at all? To Blaise it seemed it would just make the pain worse. At least the way his mother lived, there was no pain. It was all for sex and money, which caused grief, but no pain.

Knoxville, Lemmings, Obellini, Porter, Keat, Michlin, Rogers… and the list went far beyond that. His mother had gotten married to every old, rich, single man in existence. And the mysterious circumstances surrounding their deaths? Blaise didn't even go there.

He supposed, however, that his mother used the exact same spell for every last one of them. If she had perfected one spell, why try to use others? It was his mother's logic. Don't mess with a working system.

Not being in love was a working system, and she wasn't going to mess with it. Blaise, though… Blaise not being in love was neither working nor failing. He could certainly be happier, but his life didn't completely suck or anything. With a tired sigh, he put his head against the cold stone of the dungeon walls.

That was neither here nor there. It didn't matter whether being in love, or at least being given the opportunity to be in love, would make him happier or not. The point was he had just screwed all of his chances of finding out.

_Damn, Malfoy, why are you so bloody unpredictable?_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna was trying to avoid Ginny, but she was too tired to cunningly plan her route around the girl. She just wanted to get to the Ravenclaw common room so she could disappear into her bed with closing charms and silencing charms and just wallow. Generally, she liked to say that she was above wallowing. It wasn't true. Luna needed, _needed_, to be able to sit all by herself and feel bad, feel awful. It needed to get out of her system. Now.

However, she should have known that Ginny would be scourging the castle for her. It figured, actually. And since she was scouring the castle for her, she had left a post outside of the Ravenclaw dorm.

A bloody _post_.

Granted, that post was Neville Longbottom and she could probably pass by him without him noticing. Or he might just stutter a few times and she could get into the common room before he alerted Ginny. But the whole concept of Ginny posting a guard ticked Luna off to no end. She did not want to talk to Ginny. She did not want to hear Ginny. She did not want to know that she 'understood how she felt' and listen to her 'Malfoy's such a bloody bastard, I'll get Ron and Harry to kick his arse's. She knew that Draco was a bastard, she knew he was a prick, she knew he wasn't worth her time or her breath.

Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him.

Luna stopped right before she was in Neville's view to think things out for a moment. She didn't want to confront Neville, no matter how easy it may be, but she couldn't keep wandering around or one of Ginny's posts would find her. Ginny, despite the fact that she was rather clueless about her sometimes, knew where Luna would go hiding.

Or did she…?

Slowly, Luna turned around and looked down the long corridor back to the staircase. _Can I still catch Zabini…?_

Quickly, Luna started walking down the hallway and back into the lair of the Slytherins—back into the cold dungeons that held so little comfort, back to the place where she was guaranteed no safety. It… it was crazy, and she knew it. She knew that she couldn't could on Zabini's kindness to get her away from Ginny's posts, but she had to try. Luna wasn't ready to face Ginny, she didn't want to. All she wanted to do was be allowed time to figure out what had just happened with Malfoy.She swallowed hard, but bounced down the stairs, closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath.

She wandered down the hallways that had recently become familiar, counting the turns to the place where she had last seen Zabini. She paused on the fifth right turn, she was decently sure this is where she would find him. Sure enough, Blaise was standing in the corner, apparently lost in thought. Luna decided to wait a moment before she made her presence known, studying him carefully. His head was hung low, bright blue eyes moving rapidly over the stone of the wall, though Luna knew he wasn't looking at it. His back was pressed against the wall, slumping forward. Long legs covered by robes with green trim stuck out in the hall, his heels the only part of his feet solidly on the ground. Shining black shoes stuck straight up into the sky, and he seemed to be watching them intently. Zabini sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets, glancing up.

Luna realized her mistake one second too late. She tried to dodge back behind the wall, but he had already seen her and she knew it. She briefly considered running, but knew it was more than likely she would run into one of Ginny's posts. Curious Zabini or furious Ginny?

Like that was even a question.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blaise felt his breath catch slightly in his throat when he looked up to see Luna's calculating face peering around the corner. He had just stopped for a moment, watching with slight amusement as she tried to jump back behind the corner.

"Lovegood," he said, trying to keep his mingled joy and amusement out of his voice. He must have succeeded, for when Luna came around the corner she looked sheepish. Briefly, Blaise noted that the dreamy look in her eyes was gone. Though they were slightly clouded, they were also almost frighteningly calculated. She was trying to figure something out, he could tell by the way her teeth were barely treading over her bottom lip.

Blaise mentally cursed himself for noticing that. Now he couldn't look away.

"Hullo, Blaise," she said quietly, her soft voice echoing strangely in the room. Few words were spoken in this hallway… even fewer that weren't angry or loud. The voice bounced around off the walls, and Blaise could see the apprehension in Luna's eyes. It made him grin, which he quickly turned into a smirk.

"Lovegood," he said again, standing up a bit straighter and looking her directly in the eye. "What are you doing down here?" Briefly, he saw Luna's resolve fail. Her teeth pulled further over her bottom lip, and the calculated look in her eyes was replaced by that of slight worry, as though she were afraid of what he might say to what she was about to tell him. She held in a breath, and her puffed out chest made her look rather stupid. He was about to open his mouth to voice his opinions when Luna's voice flew out of her mouth.

"I didn't know where else to go, and I thought you might be here still," she said in one breath, training her eyes on the floor. Blaise raised an eyebrow and removed himself completely from the wall.

"Oh?" he said, trying to keep his voice indifferent. He feared he was failing. Luna only nodded.

"And…" she appeared to be trying to come up with a more Luna-like answer, which made Blaise sneak out a chuckle, though he quickly tried to hide it. "And I wanted to see if the Kilin had come," she said softly, the normal charming ring back in her voice. When Blaise looked back up into her eyes again, he was not surprised to see that all kinds of emotion had vanished from them, leaving them clouded and dreamy. He almost sighed aloud, but managed to keep it inside of himself, instead feeling his shoulders sag so slightly he was almost certain Luna wouldn't notice.

"I doubt that, Lovegood," he said, not bothering to hide the fondness behind his words. Luna smiled rather blankly at him, making a frown return to his face.

"Oh, but it's true," she said innocently. "I've always wanted to see a Kilin. I've heard they're fascinating. None of my father's reporters have ever been able to find one," she explained.

"Then where's your notebook?" he asked. Luna blanched.

"It's… I don't need one," she said quickly. "I've a good memory."

"But you're always carrying around that journal of yours," he said happily, enjoying how uncomfortable she looked.

"Yes, well…" she trailed off and he didn't miss the way her hands were staying on the lip of her bag. He smirked.

"Something you don't want me to see in that journal?" Luna blushed, though she quickly pushed it away.

"Of course not," she said, "in fact, since you enjoy _The Quibbler _so much, you might thoroughly enjoy the musings within its pages," she still looked rather nervous. "Of course, you probably wouldn't be able to read them. My handwriting is atrocious."

"Lucky you," Luna tensed. Blaise really was enjoying this far too much.

"Oh, but I do have horrid handwriting," she assured him. Blaise just smiled.

"It didn't look too bad on your little list," he said. Luna paled significantly. She seemed to be considering her options for a moment.

"You're far too good at reading me," she whispered, though her words reached Blaise anyhow. The room was too small and too quiet for them not too, and he was sure Luna was aware of that. He nodded curtly.

"The mask is… well," he paused, "it's not unbecoming. But for someone who has spent so much time looking through masks, it's very transparent," he said, satisfied with his answer. Luna bit her bottom lip a little harder.

"Look, Zabini," she said finally, "I don't want to talk to Ginny. Do you mind keeping me company? I've brought some issues of _The Quibbler_, you seem to find it interesting…" she trailed off and looked up at Blaise.

"Is the mask coming back?" he asked. Luna smiled—a true smile, not just those little half-smiles she gave all the time when her mask was on. Blaise felt his heart pounding angrily in his chest, and he tried his hardest to train his eyes away from Luna's lips. That smile…

"I don't know how to keep it off. It just melts on it's own sometimes." Blaise looked over Luna, the way she was standing so near the corner, looking as though she was about to dart, the way her eyes darted back and forth across the room, settling on his and then running away. He smiled lightly and sat down on the floor, patting the spot next to him. Luna walked over and collapsed next to him, rummaging through her giant bag.

"What all do you keep in there?" he asked. Luna smiled at his amusement.

"I _am _a girl," she said, mock irritated.

"Oh, right," Blaise grinned. "I forget sometimes." _Oh, that's a blatant lie. You most certainly do not forget she's a girl. _Luna swatted at him fondly.

"You're rather funny when you're not being a git," she noted.

"You're rather fun when you're not wearing your mask," he said. "Though you're more intriguing with it on." Luna blushed again and pulled out a charms book.

"On second thought," she said, "I don't get this. Care to help me?"_ Yes, I do. I want to help you away from a doomed relationship with that bastard Draco bloody Malfoy._

"Sure."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like I said, sorry about the lack of updates. I really do love you all, and I love this fic, but it just… :Sigh:

And now it won't work for me. :Pokes it: It really wants to be a Blaise/Luna. Please convince me otherwise.


	9. A Slytherin Hallway

Almost all of you failed at convincing me. DAMN YOU! I was going to be good with this one! Gar.

Updates... happen? Why yes, they do. Will they happen again?

Eventually.

This is a happy birthday to ME! . This is my present to myself, I kept on forgetting to post it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Luna's POV**

A few times, Luna noticed the way Blaise's laugh sounded. It was nice, really. It seemed like something she should appreciate, and she did. She could tell that it was a rare time that Blaise laughed—_really_ laughed. He smirked, he chuckled… but laughed? Laughter, to Luna, implied some sort of happiness instilled by something besides another person's pain or embarrassment. She'd heard his amused chortles, his strange little chuckles, but those were always when she was horribly flustered, or when he was watching someone else going through something painful. But now…

Blaise was laughing.

It sounded like… like something rare. Could something sound rare? Maybe it just sounded strange, coming out of Blaise's mouth. It was an awfully _pure _sound… It seemed strange to Luna that someone she considered so complete impure could sound that innocent. He sounded like nothing bad had ever happened to him, sounded like he was just a boy. And he was, really. Behind his own mask, he was just a boy. But now, sitting in the Slytherin corridors with only her, he was acting like one. He opened his mouth and laughed, loud, hard. The gentle sound echoed all over the dungeon and left it feeling ten times more warm than it had before. These walls didn't know laughter; didn't know happiness like what they were witnessing. Luna felt a smile spread across her face as she watched Blaise, looking up from her charms book.

How could he be this and that other person at the same time?

"Why do you act like you do?" she asked quietly after a long moment of watching the laugh Blaise, following his eyes over the pages of her charms book. Next to her, she could hear the jarring change in his breathing. It stopped completely, sped up, slowed way down, and then returned to normal. He inhaled deeply and turned to Luna just slightly, inclining his head to signal that he had heard her while he thought.

"I… I don't act," Blaise said finally, leaning back on his palms and tilting his head towards Luna's. "Why do—" Luna cut him off.

"You act. If you were like this all the time, the Slytherins wouldn't like you and the other houses would," Luna said matter-of-factly. Blaise looked away. Luna couldn't tell if he was embarrassed, ashamed, or just plain taken aback that Luna had seen through his mask. He should have known better. She spent so much time putting on her own façade… how could she not recognize someone else's?

The silence in the room was strange and heavy. The light air that the room had held just a moment ago was almost completely lost as Blaise gazed down over his thumbs and rubbed them together, gnawing at his bottom lip and fidgeting slightly everywhere. He sighed and sat up straight, pressing the back of his head against the wall.

"Look, there are several 'me's," Blaise said after a moment. "It's just that this one is hard to access sometimes. I mean, have you ever seen me like this before?" he asked, turning his head so he could see Luna again. She shook her head. "I don't get to act carefree. I mean, even if I could access this side of me, the Slytherins would only rub it in my face. Slytherins aren't nice like this, they aren't happy like this, they don't laugh like this."

"Then what do you do?" Luna asked, cocking her head. Blaise pointedly looked away from her, focusing his eyes on the blank wall across the hall.

"We put up walls and yell at each other from beyond the barriers we've set up," Blaise grinned.

"But then how do you get to know anyone?" Luna asked, knowing the answer but continuing to ask. The Slytherins, she had decided long ago, were much like the Ravenclaws. Perhaps it really was just their overly academic minds talking, but Ravenclaws tended to put up walls, too. They hid themselves behind piles of books, revolving their conversations around what they read, what they studied, what they knew. Yes, Ravenclaws knew how to have fun. They could do that like almost no other house could. It was just that Ravenclaws kept everything pent up; they spent all of their stored emotions at their parties. They didn't really have close inner-house relationships. Many Ravenclaws had better friends outside of their house than in. Slytherins were like that, only they hid behind bloodlines and they didn't have parties to let out pent-up emotions. And they didn't have the opportunity to make friends from other houses—it was an unspoken, or perhaps even a spoken—rule.

"There's nothing to know besides family and beliefs," Blaise said easily. "Everything else is nonessential to a proper Slytherin relationship."

"But then how—?"

"Slytherins don't have friends, not really," Blaise said quickly, cutting Luna off.

"Don't you get lonely?" Luna asked softly, fingers moving up and down over the worn pages of her charms book. Blaise's eyes lingered on her hands. Luna blushed and ceased their soft movements, instead turning to look at Blaise again. He shifted his face away uncomfortably.

"Why would I get lonely?" he asked absently. "It's the same relationship I have with my own mother. I have nothing to relate it to. As far as I'm concerned, the relationship I have with Draco is the tightest sort of bond there is."

"But you hardly even talk to each other…" Luna trailed off. Blaise shrugged.

"Yeah, but I know how he works, and he knows how I work. Therefore, we're extremely 'close'. We've spent more time observing each other than is normal for Slytherins," Blaise said. Luna looked deeply confused.

"I don't understand," she stated. Blaise sighed.

"You're acting like a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff," he said translucently. "Friendship isn't very important. Comradeship, perhaps. Blood ties, definitely. Business relations? Most likely. But friendships are unimportant and inconsequential. They are nothing but weaknesses." Luna bit her tongue, but from the moment he said that, she knew it was going to come out…

**Blaise's POV**

"Are you weak?" Luna asked. Blaise paused, swinging his head around to look Luna squarely in the eye. The first thing to come to the tip of his tongue was 'not weak at all'. But it was a lie, and he knew it. Normally, he had no problems lying. But something about the earnest way Luna looked at him, the way she had her arms wrapped around her legs, the way she cocked her head and her radish earrings bumped into each other…

"Yes, but I don't ever show it…" he trailed off, satisfied with the half-truth that he told her. For a moment, the two of them sat in a companionable silence, both processing what the other had said. Yes, he was weak, but he had never admitted it to anyone, least of all himself. He didn't know why it had just spilled out like that...

After about a minute had passed, Blaise grew slightly uneasy. He brought his head up from where it had been resting against the wall. "Why do you act, then?" Luna paused.

"Because I don't know what else to do," she said finally, not removing her eyes from the book. "Because being Loony is safe." Blaise was sure he almost physically started at that. Loony was not safe. Loony was the opposite of safe. She brought unwanted attention to herself, she made everyone look and stare and talk and whisper. She was bloody crazy. That was not safe.

But, in a strange way, Blaise understood where she was coming from. She was safe because no one would approach her, safe because no one thought to ask her opinion. She was, after all, a bloody lunatic. Who would ask her? She was safe, he supposed, from everyone simply because everyone was so aware of her. After a moment of contemplation, Blaise opened his mouth again.

"Why do you need to be safe?" Blaise asked. He didn't mean for it to be challenging, but it came out that way. He could feel himself blushing slightly, completely embarrassed that he had allowed himself to come as close to verbally attacking her as he did. "Isn't the whole point of Luna to be something completely different, to be as challenging as you want to be?"

"Yes, and no. Luna… Luna's whole point in life is to make up her own rules, because the rules she was given kind of screwed her over. She's… hiding. She's hiding from what's going on that she can't deal with. She thinks that when she's so loony, she can pretend her life isn't as crazy as it is. She can pretend to think that perhaps it's just her and how loony she is," she said softly. Blaise was gnawing at his bottom lip, and he was almost certain Luna knew it. He found, most alarmingly, that he did not care.

"Why does she hide?" he asked after a long moment of silence, finally moving his eye from the wall to Luna's face. Luna was still looking down at the book as though it held all of the answers to real life instead of just the answer to charms. With care, she gently let her thumb stray over the tired pages of the textbook. She took a few minutes to answer, and Blaise felt himself completely hypnotized the entire time. It was her voice that finally snapped him out of his unreality.

"Because Luna is weak, tired, lonely, and desperate," she said, her head staying trained on the words on the page. "She is not a Slytherin; she is a little girl, and she wants to stay away from everything that hurts."

Words strayed on his lips. What hurts you? He wanted to ask. Who? He wanted to make _them_ hurt. He wanted to wrap his arms around them and shake them, screaming at them, asking why they would ever hurt her; someone so beautifully, angelically perfect. Instead, he simply turned to the next page in the charms book.

"Hurt isn't so bad," he said quietly before leaning back over her shoulder and continuing their lesson on levitation.

**Draco's POV**

Blaise thought he was much more dense than he actually was. Draco leaned back into the couch he was currently lounging in, eyes following the other boy as he awkwardly tried to avoid sitting by Draco. Draco bit back a laugh. All the years Blaise had known him, and he still thought he could get away with things like that. Idiot.

"Blaise," he said lazily. Blaise's head shot up and he had the presence of mind to look rather sheepish, still managing to keep a rather hard edge to his face, something he was overly good at.

"Yeah?" he asked, standing up from the table he was sitting at and slowly making his way over to Draco.

"You're avoiding me," Draco said point-blank, watching for a change in Blaise's expression and finding none. Surprising to say the least, Blaise generally wore his feelings on his face, something that was horribly un-Slytherin of him. Blaise just shrugged.

"Trying to finish that essay for potions," he said lazily, his eyes flickering over to Draco again. "I actually try to earn my grades in that class." Draco ignored the fact that the comment was meant to set him off.

"Why earn them when Snape will just give them to you?" he shifted positions. Blaise glared at him.

"I don't know," Blaise said quietly, watching Draco intently.

"But you're avoiding me more than when you just want to get something done without me bothering you," Draco pulled himself from the comforts of the couch and walked over to Blaise, stopping a few feet before him. Blaise winced visibly.

"I'm not avoiding you at all, Draco," Blaise sighed. Draco nodded. It was true, mostly. Except for the past few days, Blaise had actually gone out of his way to be near Draco. But he knew Blaise well enough to know this was simply his way of keeping his enemies closer—he honestly just had no idea what he had done wrong.

"I don't know what I've done that you're so mad at me," Draco drawled. Blaise tensed.

"Then leave me alone," he said testily, making for the 6th year boy's dorm.

"That's my room too."

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy," Blaise quipped, grabbing the banister tightly, turning around and starting down the staircase.

"Too bad. I am," Draco said, following Blaise determinedly.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Draco," Blaise didn't turn around, but his knuckles were turning white from gripping the banister so hard. Draco snorted, watching the back of Blaise's unmoving head.

"I know you better than anyone else in this house," he said, knowing it was true. No one else had noticed something was off about the boy besides him, not like anyone else even cared. If it had to do with them, Slytherins were used to being _told _about problems, not figuring them out. Draco had always liked to mind other people's business, however, and over the years he had come to recognize certain things… like the way Blaise avoided dessert when he was angry or upset. He still had no idea why, but Blaise never touched dessert when something was bugging him. Food he ate. He never lost his appetite, unlike Pansy and Theodore, but he never touched pudding or cake or anything of the sort. Odd, as Blaise seemed to like sweets more than normal food most of the time. Draco thought it might be his way of punishing himself until he got over what plagued him—the first two times his mother had gotten married when Blaise came to Hogwarts, the boy hadn't touched dessert for a week. Then all thoughts of his mother seemed to slip from his mind. Over time, Draco realized he did this whenever he was upset.

Blaise hadn't touched dessert in over two weeks.

Draco watched Blaise carefully. His eyes were blazing dangerously, and if Draco hadn't been so curious he would have been inclined to drop the matter, even if he had brought it up. He wasn't stupid, he could tell that Blaise was coming dangerously close to abandoning his will and pummeling him.

He could go ahead and do it.

Another thing Draco had noticed about Blaise was that he always acted differently around people he was angry with. When Theodore got on his nerves, Blaise stayed his prickly self, but he spent more time 'helping' the boy with homework and made his best effort to sit next to him during all the meals and their classes together. The behaviors had Draco puzzled for a long time before he realized Blaise was looking for a weak spot so he could get the boy back.

The week before, Blaise had been sticking too close to Draco.

Right now, though, he was experiencing a part of Draco he never had before. For the last four days, Blaise had been keeping far away not only from Draco, but from everyone in Slytherin. Well, he was still the same, Draco supposed… mostly. He still nodded curtly when he passed Slytherins in the halls, stayed in his usual seat in class, and studied where he always did—in the middle of the Slytherin common room. But besides that, Blaise had abandoned his normal study group, left meals early, and spent all his time in the dorms with his nose in a book. It wasn't like him at all. It had taken Draco a while, but he finally realized that Blaise was avoiding them. No matter how angry he'd gotten, Blaise had never done that, and he couldn't figure out what was wrong with the only boy he truly considered to be a friend.

Blaise sighed and turned to face Draco, his face stony and cold. "I'm _really _not in the mood, Draco," he said through clenched teeth, his hand still gripping the banister. Draco couldn't help the smirk that crossed his lips.

"I can tell."

**Blaise's POV**

Damn it all, Blaise was going to kill him. He could tell by the calculating look in Draco's eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing. He was not only baiting him, he was observing him being baited so he knew what to look for in the future. Blaise scowled deeply.

"You're a fucking bastard, and I'm not wasting my time with this," Blaise said, disregarding any hope of putting on a cordial front. Draco seemed taken aback by this for a moment, but he continued.

"Why not?" Draco asked smoothly. Blaise shot him a death glare and tried to push Draco's arm out of the way so he could go down to their dorm and cast some sort of charm on his bed. A silencing charm, a closing charm, _something_, so he couldn't hear Draco's voice—that calloused, angry, spiteful voice—and only be able to think Luna wanted _that _and not _him_.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way," Blaise snarled, tearing at Draco's arm. "I'm not playing nice with you, I'm not putting up with you, and I'm not going to hang around and watch you fuck with other people's lives. It's not a game, Draco, and I'm sick of you acting like it is. Maybe you don't care about anyone besides yourself and… well, actually, no. Not maybe, I know you don't care about anyone besides yourself, and it's not expected of your. You are, after all, a Malfoy. Since when do Malfoy's care about others? But if you could open your bloody eyes for five seconds, you would see that you're hurting a lot more people than you think you are by being… well, yourself. Stop being such a bloody arse around me and get the hell out of my way, Malfoy, or I'll kick. Your. Ass," Draco blinked, and Blaise pushed his hand away and stormed down into the dorms. Blaise was almost all the way down the stairs by the time Draco came up with a response.

"Why would I care about anyone else? Why do you care about anyone else?" Draco called down after him right before Blaise stepped off of the last stair. Blaise knew he should keep going, but he couldn't help himself. He turned around.

"I care…" he trailed off, picturing Luna's pale, cloudy grey eyes and her soft blonde hair. He could see her radish earrings, brushing against her ears and neck. Her bottle cap necklace hanging down over her robes. He saw his mother—the mother that had never cared about him, the mother he could never stop caring about. Blaise sighed deeply and turned around, facing a clearly perplexed Draco and looking over him warily. Before he could even process what he was saying, words spilled out of his mouth. "I care because I'm weak, Draco. I'm weak, and I wish I knew what it was like to be cared about."

Draco apparently had nothing to say to that, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he turned and walked away from Blaise, who was now standing, daring Draco to answer him.

"I'm weak," Blaise muttered to himself as he continued down the stairs, practically at a run. "I'm weak. I care about someone who will never care about me, just to see what it feels like to be cared about. Desperate, I am. Desperate, lonely, and weak."

Just weeks ago, Blaise would have denied all of those things. He could have gotten any girl he wanted, so surely he was not desperate. He was friends with nearly everyone in Slytherin, or, at least, he had the pretense of being friends with everyone in Slytherin. What more could one ask of a bunch of snakes? He, granted, had a bit of a soft spot for his mother, however undeserved, but aside from that, nothing was above Blaise in his own eyes. Blaise came first, and he would do anything to assure that he came first. However, at some point this year, that had changed. Maybe it was the way she smiled at him, the way she seemed to trust him without any rite or reason at all…

Or perhaps it was the way she seemed to seek him out when she was lonely. Maybe it was the way she was so hurt by what everyone else seemed to ignore. Maybe it was the way she knew about every obscure magical creature in existence. The way she looked when she let herself smile, really smile, smile like no one was watching, smile like all her troubles had just disappeared. When she smiled like that, smiled like the whole world could stop right then and she'd be happy forever, Blaise could feel his heart clench up. He wanted to make her smile like that all the time. He wanted to hear her real laugh; he wanted to see her real eyes, and for more than just a split second. He wanted to see them _always_. He wanted so many things out of her, and he couldn't think of a way to get any of them.

Damn Draco Malfoy.

Damn Malfoy and his damnably irresistible smirk, damn Malfoy and his blonde hair that made everyone swoon. Damn Malfoy and that smile that would sneak onto his face every once in a while and make every living creature look. Damn that personality that should have turned people off, but did nothing but make them more interested. Damn the fact that he had captured _her_ interest, damn the fact that he plagued _her_ mind. Damn him, because he couldn't see it. Damn him because he didn't care about her, and Blaise did. Bloody hell, he _cared _about her.

He would be _damned _if he let Draco bloody Malfoy take away the only thing he cared about.

_Malfoy, you can toy with anyone else, but Luna deserves better, _Blaise thought as he flung himself onto his bed and charmed it closed. _Better, better, better. Better than your stupid eyes that have everyone fooled, better than a soul that has already made up it's mind. She deserves better than what you'll give her. Money and breed mean nothing, not without love._

Blaise hardly had the time to stop and consider what he was thinking for a moment. If he had stopped, Blaise knew he would have realized something very significant—he knew what love was. Love was needing someone so badly; you ached when they did not need you in return. Love was blindly throwing yourself into that fire you had always avoided just to see if the flames would still burn you. Love was testing everything you had once known to be true simply because you could. It was feeling like you were invincible, but at the same time knowing that you were more vulnerable than you had ever been before. Love was knowing that you'd do anything. Anything and everything, just for one smile, for one laugh, for one moment to say 'I love you' and for one moment to hear it back. Love was knowing that included in doing everything was doing nothing, undoubtedly the hardest of them all. Love was knowing you'd sit on your hands, stand on your head, balance on one toe, twirl in a circle until you puked.

_Love._

It was like being _wanted_, except a million times more potent. _Love _was like everything good and bad in the world wrapped into one emotion, one instance, one moment. It was like the sun rising and setting at the same time, like birth and death in the same moment, like yin and yang and black and white and _everything_ in the world that was opposite and the same in the same moment.

_Love._

Love was like bittersweet chocolate fallen in the mud. It was so strong, so bitter, so sweet, so salty, so sour, so… umami. That was it, wasn't it? It could not be named. It was that one flavor on the back of your tongue that has no taste, but tastes like everything at the same time. It was that one taste bud that just made everything stronger. _That_ was love. A taste of nothing, of everything, of this and that and the other, rolled up into one. Something so intangible, so intangible… but at the same time, love was something so real you could touch it. Taste it. Feel it. Smell it. It _radiated_.

Merlin, _Love._

Love was noticing everything about a person and being enticed by all of it. Love was watching them and wishing you were sitting by their side. Love was indignant, headstrong, stubborn, angry. Love was everything Blaise saw when he looked in the mirror; tired, clichéd, worn-out, beautiful, exhilarating, and used. But that was what made love interesting. Love was everything negative turned into something so gloriously positive it was impossible to see straight. Love was a fierce protection he had never felt for anyone but his mother. Love was rekindling all these emotions that had been beneath the surface for far too long. Love was not even noticing you were weird, not even noticing that everything had changed in one split second. But mostly, love was a newspaper he never would have read, and love was a list filled with pain he wished she didn't have to feel.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you don't convince me… this chapter, I'd say, the pairing is changing.


End file.
